The maturing process of becoming a writer is akin to that of a harlot. First you do it for love, then for a few friends, and finally only for money.
Perfect reason avoids all extremes.
Birth means nothing where there is no virtue.
Ah, there are no children nowadays.
No one is safe from slander. The best way is to pay no attention to it, but live in innocence and let the world talk.
Innocence is not accustomed to blush.