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People can do all kinds of things that maybe aren’t wise in hindsight because of jealousy.
Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits.
But when I would see the surrogate, my first instinct, my first reaction would be jealousy, because she was doing what I wanted to do.
I do not say anything from jealousy.
Lovers may be and indeed generally are enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.
Passion can quickly slip to jealousy, or even hatred.
Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.
Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude.
Jealousy is the grave of affection.
Man is jealous because of his amour propre woman is jealous because of her lack of it.