Married men make the best husbands.
We are all snobs of the Infinite, parvenus of the Eternal.
Liszt's so-called piano music is nothing but Chopin and brandy.
The chaste woman who teases is worse than a streetwalker.
Let there be no mincing of comparisons in this assertion. Not Turner, not Monet, painted so directly blinding shafts of sunlight as has this Spaniard.
Life is like an onion: you peel off layer after layer and then you find there is nothing in it.