In the great cities, winter glitters with art and feasting. But poetry, the country cousin, sees only the dearth of the fields.

The limitations of pleasure cannot be overcome by more pleasure.

Modern literature seduces with insults, riddles, and inside stories.

Interpreting the dance: young women in white dancing in a ring can only be virgins; old women in black dancing in a ring can only be witches; but middle-aged women in colors, square dancing...?

I change my opinions often, but not my way of thinking.

In retirement, only money and symptoms are consequential.

After Voltaire: envy is chained to the portico of the temple of glory and can neither enter nor leave.