Happiness, like wealth, has its parasites.
One does not dwell in a house; one dwells in himself.
Put a pig in a palace and he'll make a pen of it.
Paul Bourget still believes in duchesses. What is there astonishing about that? There are many people who believe in ghosts.
The crowd has no idea of how much sensibility, and intelligence it requires to enjoy the perfume of a rose or the smile of a woman.
Sainte-Beuve is too scholarly. He cannot stand nude before a nude statue; he has to have pockets from which to take out note-books and papers.
A woman sometimes feels pity for the sorrows that she causes remorselessly.
The little girl expects no declaration of tenderness from her doll. She loves it, and that's all. It is thus that we should love.
The craze for decorations has reached such a height that actors, they say, are proud to play the rôle of an Officer of the Legion of Honor.
I'm very fond of going to the butcher shop and looking at a sheep's brains. We have in our heads a reddish sponge of the same kind, which thinks.