Despair Is The Only Genuine

A Woman Who Could Always Love Would Never Grow Old; And The Love Of Mother And Wife Would Often Give Or Preserve Many Charms If It Were Not Too Often Combined With Parental And Conjugal Anger. There Remains In The Face Of Women Who Are Naturally Serene And Peaceful, And Of Those Rendered So By Religion, An After-spring, And Later An After-summer, The Reflex Of Their Most Beautiful Bloom.

Humankind's Chief Fault Is That They Have So Many Small Ones.

In Women Everything Is Heart, Even The Head.

Humanity Is Never So Beautiful As When Praying For Forgiveness, Or Else Forgiving Another.

A Loving Maiden Grows Unconsciously More Bold.