The man who enters his wife’s dressing-room is either a philosopher or an imbecile.
The man who can perpetually bring his thought to bear upon his facts is a man of genius; but the man of the highest genius does not display genius at all times; if he did, he would be like to God.
The man as he converses is the lover; silent, he is the husband.
The majority of husbands to this orang-outang trying to play the violin.
The lover submits to all the caprices of a woman; and as a man is never vile while he lies in the arms of his mistress, he will take the means to please her that a husband would recoil from.
The life of a man who deliberately runs through his fortune often becomes a business speculation; his friends, his pleasures, patrons, and acquaintances are his capital.
The King stands for us all. To die for the King is to die for oneself, for one’s family, which, like the kingdom, cannot die.
The interest of a husband as much as his honor forbids him to indulge a pleasure which he has not had the skill to make his wife desire.
The inexorable box which keeps its mouth open to all comers receives its epistolary provender from all hands.
The husband who leaves nothing to desire is a lost man.
The human heart may find here and there a resting-place short of the highest height of affection, but we seldom stop in the steep, downward slope of hatred.
The higher thy flight the less canst thou see the abysses. There are none in heaven.