The love of money grows as the money itself grows.

There will he nothing more that posterity can add to our immoral habits; our descendants must have the same desires and act the same follies as their sires. Every vice has reached its zenith.

No one every suddenly became depraved.

Whenever fortune wishes to joke, she lifts people from what is humble to the highest extremity of affairs.

The face, not the woman is the attraction.

For the short-lived bloom and contracted span of brief and wretched life is fast fleeting away! While we are drinking and calling for garlands, ointments, and women, old age steals swiftly on with noiseless step.

Drooping along the ground the vine misses its widowed elm.