You are afraid of the people unrestrained-how ridiculous!
Crime is to the passions what nervous fluid is to life: it sustains them, it supplies their strength.
Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.
How delicious to corrupt, to stifle all semblances of virtue and religion in that young heart!
Happiness is ideal, it is the work of the imagination.
I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure.