I admired her more in Phedre than in any other part in which I saw her.
The guilty love inspired by the hatred of a goddess was expressed in all its symptoms with a force and terrible naturalness that almost suffocated the beholder.

After she had taken the poison, the exhaustion and paralysis of the system, the sad, cold, calm submission to Fate, were still more grand.
I had heard so much about the power of her eye in one fixed look, and the expression she could concentrate in a single word, that the utmost results could only satisfy my expectations.

It is, indeed, something magnificent to see the dark cloud give out such sparks, each one fit to deal a separate death; but it was not that I admired most in her: it was the grandeur, truth, and depth of her conception of each part, and the sustained purity with which she represented it.
For the rest, I shall write somewhere a detailed _critique_ upon the parts in which I saw her.

It is she who has made me acquainted with the true way of viewing French tragedy.

I had no idea of its powers and symmetry till now, and have received from the revelation high pleasure and a crowd of thoughts.
The French language from her lips is a divine dialect; it is stripped of its national and personal peculiarities, and becomes what any language must, moulded by such a genius, the pure music of the heart and soul.