Creation Lives, Grows, And Multiplies; Man Is

Dry Happiness Is Like Dry Bread. We Eat, But We Do Not Dine. I Wish For The Superfluous, For The Useless, For The Extravagant, For The Too Much, For That Which Is Not Good For Anything.

In The Opera We Call Love, The Libretto Is Almost Nothing.

If We Must Suffer, Let Us Suffer Nobly.

Forty Is The Old Age Of Youth; Fifty The Youth Of Old Age.

Without Vanity, Without Coquetry, Without Curiosity, In A Word, Without The Fall, Woman Would Not Be Woman. Much Of Her Grace Is In Her Frailty.