Parisians are so besotted, so silly and so naturally inept that a street player, a seller of indulgences, a mule with its cymbals,a fiddler in the middle of a crossroads, will draw more people than would a good Evangelist preacher.

I am going to seek a great perhaps.

In this mortal life, nothing is blessed throughout.

A man of good sense always believes what he is told, and what he finds written down.

How do you know antiquity was foolish? How do you know the present is wise? Who made it foolish? Who made it wise?

If the skies fall, one may hope to catch larks.

Oh thrice and four times happy... those who plant cabbages.