I have pushed virtue to outright brutality.
Ah, why can't I know if I love, or if I hate?
It is a maxim of old that among themselves all things are common to friends.
None love, but they who wish to love.
Have there ever been more submissive slaves? Adoring, even in their irons, the God who punishes them.
When I'm carried away, isn't it clear that my heart contradicts my mouth?