She wanted, with her fickleness, to make my destruction constant; I want, by trying to destroy myself, to satisfy her desire.
Give the devil his due.
The absent feel and fear every ill.
For me alone Don Quixote was born and I for him. His was the power of action, mine of writing.
My thoughts ran a wool-gathering.
All persons are not discreet enough to know how to take things by the right handle.