Neither The Passions Not Justice Nor Politics

A Lover Always Thinks Of His Mistress First And Himself Second; With A Husband It Runs The Other Way.

The Secret Of The Nobility And Beauty Of Great Ladies Lies In The Art With Which They Can Shed Their Veils. In Such Situations, They Become Like Ancient Statues. If They Kept The Merest Scarf On, They Would Be Lewd. Your Bourgeois Woman Will Always Try To Cover Her Nakedness.

In Love, What A Woman Mistakes For Disgust Is Actually Clearsightedness. If She Does Not Admire A Man, She Scorns Him.

With A Woman, Always Make Good Use Of A Secret. She Will Be Proportionally Grateful To You, Like A Scoundrel Who Grants His Respect To An Honest Man He Has Been Unable To Swindle.

There Are Houses In Certain Provincial Towns Whose Aspect Inspires Melancholy, Akin To That Called Forth By Sombre Cloisters, Dreary Moorlands, Or The Desolation Of Ruins. Within These Houses There Is, Perhaps, The Silence Of The Cloister, The Barrenness Of Moors, The Skeleton Of Ruins; Life And Movement Are So Stagnant There That A Stranger Might Think Them Uninhabited, Were It Not That He Encounters Suddenly The Pale, Cold Glance Of A Motionless Person, Whose Half-monastic Face Peers Beyond The Window-casing At The Sound Of An Unaccustomed Step.