We forget our faults easily when they are known to ourselves alone.

Good advice is something a man gives when he is too old to set a bad example.

All women are flirts, but some are restrained by shyness, and others by sense.

Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.

A work can become modern only if it is first postmodern. Postmodernism thus understood is not modernism at its end but in the nascent state, and this state is constant.

When we are unable to find tranquility within ourselves, it is useless to seek it elsewhere.

There is only one kind of love, but there are a thousand imitations.

Nothing hinders a thing from being natural so much as the straining ourselves to make it seem so.

Marriage is the only war in which you sleep with the enemy.

Most people know no other way of judging men's worth but by the vogue they are in, or the fortunes they have met with.

There are no accidents so unlucky from which clever people are not able to reap some advantage, and none so lucky that the foolish are not able to turn them to their own disadvantage.

We cannot justify treating any sentient nonhuman as our property, as a resource, as a thing that we an use and kill for our purposes.

I thank the goodness and the grace Which on my birth have smiled And made me in these Christian days A happy Christian child.

When we say that a man controls himself, we must specify who is controlling whom.

At the end of the day, no matter how well you score, you've got to be able to stop people

The world of finance hails the invention of the wheel over and over again, often in a slightly more unstable version.

In the only way that pain can be truly remembered, through a new pain.

If you don’t move, you get stale.

Thank you, sir, but I am perfectly content being the bride of death.

I think when you've lived a bit, you read more into the songs. I do, anyway. And you're sort of living the songs rather than performing them.

But to write - that is grief and labor; and to read what one has written - how unlike the story as one saw it; how dull, how spirtless - that is enough to send one weeping to bed.