Science and art, or by the same token, poetry and prose differ from one another like a journey and an excursion. The purpose of the journey is its goal, the purpose of an excursion is the process.

Nothing genuinely historical was ever lost in this country. For this reason we have two ruling parties: villains and fools.

Trousers and the reputation of not being a thief are similar in the following way: There is no particular honor in having them butonce they are lost, everyone thinks they have the right to insult us.

Critics are reprimanded when they get sarcastic. How absurd! Is the torch of criticism supposed to shine without burning?

Do hurry and proclaim the concordat. Then castrate yourselves to keep from sinning.

What's the meaning of all the pious clamor, condemning cocks and hens? Those who have no teeth are the greatest meat-haters.

Erroneous views and presumptuousness send a talent to the insane asylum.