Pleasure bought with pain does harm.

Books have their destinies.

If you would have me weep, you must first of all feel grief yourself.

There is moderation in everything.

I have to submit to much in order to pacify the touchy tribe of poets.

For example, the tiny ant, a creature of great industry, drags with its mouth whatever it can, and adds it to the heap which she is piling up, not unaware nor careless of the future.

Let this be your wall of brass, to have nothing on your conscience, no guilt to make you turn pale.