But the disparaging of those we love always alienates us from them to some extent. We must not touch our idols; the gilt comes off in our hands.

The denigration of those we love always detaches us from them in some degree. Never touch your idols: the gilding will stick to your fingers.

When she had thus for a while struck the flint on her heart without getting a spark, incapable, moreover, of understanding what she did not experience as of believing anything that did not present itself in conventional forms she persuaded herself without difficulty that Charles's passion was nothing very exorbitant.

What baffled him was that there should be all this fuss about something so simple as love.

Everything measurable passes, everything that can be counted has an end. Only three things are infinite: the sky in its stars, the sea in its drops of water, and the heart in its tears.

Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.