Respectable people... What bastards!
An entire lifetime would not be long enough for you to exhaust the glance of the young harvest-girl.
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
If something's just, I'll let myself be hacked to bits for it.
She was cold by nature, self-love predominating over passion; rather than being virtuous, she preferred to have her pleasures all to herself.
Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.