Refrain from doing ill; for one all powerful reason, lest our children should copy our misdeeds; we are all too prone to imitate whatever is base and depraved.

The brief span of our poor unhappy life to its final hour Is hastening on; and while we drink and call for gay wreaths, Perfumes, and young girls, old age creeps upon us, unperceived.

There's no effrontery like that of a woman caught in the act; her very guilt inspires her with wrath and insolence.

No man becomes bad all at once.

The finishing stroke of all sorrow.

Wisdom overcomes fortune.

The itch of scribbling.