“What delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?”

“What is it which has always come between real life and me? What glass screen has, as it were, interposed itself between me and the enjoyment, the possession, the contact of things, leaving me only the role of the looker-on?”

“I'm in love!Your advice, what are they?Love has poisoned me!Your remedies, what are they?I hear them shout: "fast, Bind him feet!"But if my heart that has gone mad!Those strings on my feetWhat is the point?”

“O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!”

“Love is not simply the sum of sweet greetings and wrenching partings and kisses and embraces, but is made up more of the memory of what has happened and the imagining of what is to come.”

“Whatever you seize for yourself is worthless. Only what is given you has value.”