To plunder, to lie, to show your arse, are three essentials for climbing high.

Chorus of women: [...] Oh! my good, gallant Lysistrata, and all my friends, be ever like a bundle of nettles; never let you anger slacken; the wind of fortune blown our way.

A man's homeland is wherever he prospers.

These impossible women! How they do get around us! The poet was right: can't live with them, or without them!

[Y]ou possess all the attributes of a demagogue; a screeching, horrible voice, a perverse, crossgrained nature and the language of the market-place. In you all is united which is needful for governing.

To plunder, to lie, to show your arse, are three essentials for climbing high.

Weak mortals, chained to the earth, creatures of clay as frail as the foliage of the woods, you unfortunate race, whose life is but darkness, as unreal as a shadow, the illusion of a dream.