Our interests are grains of opium to our consciences, but they only put it to sleep for a terrible awakening.

Let us respect gray Lairs, but, above all, our own.

That prudery which survives youth and beauty resembles a scarecrow left in the fields after harvest.

The politics of courtiers resemble their shadows; they cringe and turn with the sun of the day.

Loud indignation against vice often stands for virtue in the eyes of bigots.

Pleasure and satiety live next door to each other.

What we gain by experience is not worth that we lose in illusion