In their first love affairs women love their lover; in all others they love love.
In the old age of love, as in the old age of life, we continue to live to pain long after we have ceased to live to pleasure.
There is no passion in which self-love reigns so powerfully as in love; we are always more ready to sacrifice the repose of a person we love than to lose our own.
There is a certain kind of love which, as it grows excessive, leaves no room for jealousy.
Jealousy is born with love, but it does not always die with it.
Jealousy is the greatest of all afflictions, and that which least excites pity in the persons that cause it.
In love and in friendship we are often happier by reason of the things that we do not know than by those that we do.
There are few women whose merit lasts longer than their beauty.
The reason why most women are little touched by friendship is that friendship is insipid to those who have felt what love is.