No one knows what he is doing so long as he is acting rightly; but of what is wrong one is always conscious.

Each ten years of a man's life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires.

Time is a strange thing. It is a whimsical tyrant, which in every century has a different face for all that one says and does.

A word spoken is a terrible thing when it suddenly utters what the heart has long allowed.

One criticizes the English for carrying their teapots wherever they go, even lugging them up Mount Etna. But doesn't every nationhave its teapot, in which, even when traveling, it brews the dried bundles of herbs brought from home?

If youth is a fault, it is one that one gets rid of soon enough.

For a strolling damsel a doubtful reputation bears.