If men knew what they can have for a tear, they would be better loved and we should be less ruinous to them.
"Your letter undeceived me; it showed me that you lacked the intelligence of the heart; it did you more harm with me than anything you could possibly have done.

It was jealousy certainly, but ironical and impertinent jealousy.

I was already feeling sad when I received your letter.

I was looking forward to seeing you at twelve, to having lunch with you, and wiping out, by seeing you, a thought which was with me incessantly, and which, before I knew you, I had no difficulty in tolerating.
"Then," continued Marguerite, "you were the only person before whom it seemed to me, from the first, that I could think and speak freely.

All those who come about women like me have an interest in calculating their slightest words, in thinking of the consequences of their most insignificant actions.