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.

Heaven forbids, it is true, certain gratifications, but there are ways and means of compounding such matters.

It is a fine seasoning for joy to think of those we love.

Reason is not what decides love.

To create a public scandal is what's wicked; to sin in private is not a sin.

Of all the noises known to man, opera is the most expensive.

With a smile we should instruct our youth.