My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.

Stop wishing to merit anyone's gratitude or thinking that anyone can become grateful.

The vows that woman makes to her fond lover are only fit to be written on air or on the swiftly passing stream.

Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.

Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!

We see not our own backs.

Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all.