No god is absent where prudence dwells.
Many have an irresistible itch for writing.
There are many things which may not be uttered by men in threadbare coats.
There's no effrontery like that of a woman caught in the act; her very guilt inspires her with wrath and insolence.
Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.
Revenge is always the weak pleasure of a little and narrow mind.