Some men are born posthumously.

When a man reaches his maturity in understanding and in years, the feeling comes over him that his father was wrong to beget him.

One hears - one does not seek; one takes - one does not ask who gives.

I am not a man, I am dynamite!

Where neither love nor hatred is in the game, a woman's game is mediocre.

Cows sometimes wear an expression resembling wonderment arrested on its way to becoming a question. In the eye of superior intelligence, on the other hand, lies the nil admirari spread out like the monotony of a cloudless sky.

One who is publicly honest about himself ends up by priding himself somewhat on this honesty: for he knows only too well why he is honest-for the same reasons another person prefers illusion and dissimulation.