Love is a driver, bitter and fierce if you fight and resist him, Easy-going enough once you acknowledge his power.

Love is a naked child: do you think he has pockets for money?

We conceal it from ourselves in vain-we must always love something. In those matters seemingly removed from love, the feeling is secretly to be found, and man cannot possibly live for a moment without it.

We never, then, love a person, but only qualities.

Tis never for their wisdom that one loves the wisest, or for their wit that one loves the wittiest; 'tis for benevolence and virtue and honest fondness one loves people.

Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods; desired by those who have no part in him, and precious to those who have the better part in him.

Love, free as air at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.

Cupid is naked and does not like artifices contrived by beauty.

Those whose suffering is due to love are, as we say of certain invalids, their own physicians.

We are ordinarily so indifferent to people that when we have invested one of them with the possibility of giving us joy, or suffering, it seems as if he must belong to some other universe, he is imbued with poetry.