ception of reason is bounded by passion, we cannot assure ourselves and are always suspicious.
When we love, we are persuaded that we shall discover the passion of another: thus we are afraid.
The longer the way is in love, the greater is the pleasure that a sensitive mind feels in it.
There are certain minds to which hopes must long be given, and these are minds of refinement. There are others which cannot long resist difficulties, and these are the grossest. The former love longer and with more enjoyment; the latter love quicker, with more freedom, and sooner end.
The first effect of love is to inspire a profound respect; we have veneration for what we love. It is very just; we see nothing in the world so great as this.
Authors cannot tell us much of the love of their heroes; it is necessary that they should have been the heroes themselves.
Wandering in love is as monstrous as injustice in the mind.
In love, silence is of more avail than speech. It is good to be abashed; there is an eloquence in silence that penetrates more deeply than language can. How well a lover persuades his mistress when he is abashed before her, who elsewhere has so much presence of mind! Whatever vivacity we may have, it is well that in certain junctures it should be extinguished. All this takes place without rule or reflection, and when the mind acts, it is without thinking of it beforehand. This happens through necessity.
We often adore one that is unconscious of it, and do not fail to preserve an inviolable fidelity, although its object knows nothing of it. But this love must be very refined or very pure.
We know the minds of men, and consequently their passions, by the comparison that we make between ourselves and others.
I am of the opinion of him who said that in love one forgets his fortune, his relatives, and his friends; the most elevated attachments go as far as this. What causes us to go so far in love is that we do not think we have need of anything else than the object of our love: the mind is full;
