Honore de Balzac

When women love us, they forgive us everything, even our crimes when they do not…

Love is the poetry of the senses…

The art of motherhood involves much silent, unobtrusive self-denial, an hourly devotion which finds…

To those who have exhausted politics, nothing remains but abstract thought…

The smallest flower is a thought, a life answering to some feature of the Great…

Marriage must incessantly contend with a monster that devours everything: familiarity…

Behind every great fortune lies a great crime…

Clouds symbolize the veils that shroud God…

But reason always cuts a poor figure beside sentiment the one being essentially restricted, like…

For passion, be it observed, brings insight with it it can give a sort of…