How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more
     I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment
     Is it not enough to have lived? 
     Make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimes
     Reading the Memoirs of Constant
     Sometimes we seem to enjoy unhappiness
     Speak to me of your love, she said, “not of your grief”
     Suffered, and yet took pleasure in it
     Suspicions that are ever born anew
     “Unhappy man!” she cried, “you will never know how to love”
     Who has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guilt
     You play with happiness as a child plays with a rattle
     Your great weapon is silence

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     A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what is possible
     Accustomed to call its disguise virtue
     Adieu, my son, I love you and I die
     All philosophy is akin to atheism
     All that is not life, it is the noise of life
     And when love is sure of itself and knows response
     Because you weep, you fondly imagine yourself innocent
     Become corrupt, and you will cease to suffer
     Began to forget my own sorrow in my sympathy for her
     Beware of disgust, it is an incurable evil
     Can any one prevent a gossip
     Cold silence, that negative force
     Contrive to use proud disdain as a shield
     Death is more to be desired than a living distaste for life
     Despair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled child
     Do they think they have invented what they see
     Each one knows what the other is about to say
     Fool who destroys his own happiness
     Force itself, that mistress of the world
     Funeral processions are no longer permitted
     Galileo struck the earth, crying:  “Nevertheless it moves!”
     Good and bad days succeeded each other almost regularly
     Great sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme—­they listen
     Grief itself was for her but a means of seducing
     Happiness of being pursued
     He who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow
     He lives only in the body
     How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more
     Human weakness seeks association
     I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment
     I can not love her, I can not love another
     I boasted of being worse than I really was
     I neither love nor esteem sadness
     I do not intend either to boast or abase myself
     Ignorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laity
     In what do you believe? 
     Indignation can solace grief and restore happiness
     Is he a dwarf or a giant
     Is it not enough to have lived? 
     It is a pity that you