If fame is to come only after death, I am in no hurry for it.

You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

Such are thou and I: but what I am thou canst not be; what thou art any one of the multitude may be.

Life's not just about being alive, but being well.

Those they praise, but they read the others.

While you remain at home your hair is at the hairdresser's; you take out your teeth at night and sleep tucked away in a hundred cosmetics boxes - even your face does not sleep with you.

The face that cannot smile is never fair.