Let the trumpet of the day of judgment sound when it will, I shall appear with this book in my hand before the Sovereign Judge, and cry with a loud voice, This is my work, there were my thoughts, and thus was I. I have freely told both the good and the bad, have hid nothing wicked, added nothing good.

She was dull, unattractive, couldn't tell the time, count money or tie her own shoe laces... But I loved her

The world is the book of women. Whatever knowledge they may possess is more commonly acquired by observation than by reading.

The writings of women are always cold and pretty like themselves. There is as much wit as you may desire, but never any soul.

All that time is lost which might be better employed.

Whoever blushes is already guilty; true innocence is ashamed of nothing.

One must choose between making a man or a citizen, for one cannot make both at the same time.