Happy people are ignoramuses and glory is nothing else but success, and to achieve it one only has to be cunning.

I was modest--they accused me of being crafty: I became secretive. I felt deeply good and evil--nobody caressed me, everybody offended me: I became rancorous. I was gloomy--other children were merry and talkative. I felt myself superior to them--but was considered inferior: I became envious. I was ready to love the whole world--none understood me: and I learned to hate.

Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall, yet none hurtles and foams all the way to the sea.

I was ready to love the whole world, but no one understood me, and I learned to hate.

Evil spawns evil. The first experience of torture gives an understanding of the pleasure in tormenting others.

Passions are merely ideas in their initial stage.

Happiness comes the way the wind blows.