Love may be or it may not, but where it is, it ought to reveal itself in its immensity.

True love is eternal, infinite, and always like itself. It is equal and pure, without violent demonstrations: it is seen with white hairs and is always young in the heart.

A husband who submits to his wife's yoke is justly held an object of ridicule. A woman's influence ought to be entirely concealed.

Economized love is never real love

Love is the poetry of the senses.

A woman knows the face of the man she loves like a sailor knows the open sea.