A beautiful woman peers out her window, as full of envy as the harridan who peers up at her from the street.

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

Envy grieves. Jealousy rages.

My passions have never jumped out of the fireplace and set fire to the carpet.

Victimization has its privileges, and I want some.

If the world would apologize, I might consider a reconciliation.

Man invented the gods. Then the gods went off on their own, but not far.