Woman is natural, that is to say, abominable.

Within the bottle's depths, the wine's soul sang one night. Drink wine, drink poetry, drink virtue.

A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.

Whether you come from heaven or hell, what does it matter, O Beauty!

The son will run away from the family not at eighteen but at twelve, emancipated by his gluttonous precocity; he will fly not to seek heroic adventures, not to deliver a beautiful prisoner from a tower, not to immortalize a garret with sublime thoughts, but to found a business, to enrich himself and to compete with his infamous papa.

For the merchant, even honesty is a financial speculation.

The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.