There are few sorrows in which a good income is of no avail.

The lusts and greeds of the body scandalize the Soul; but it has to come to heel.

What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.

What joy can the years bring half so sweet as the unhappiness they've taken away?

It is the wretchedness of being rich that you have to live with rich people.

Only those who get into scrapes with their eyes open can find the safe way out.

What pursuit is more elegant than that of collecting the ignominies of our nature and transfixing them for show, each on the bright pin of a polished phrase?