Pluck with quick hand the fruit that passes.
I could not possibly count the gold-digging ruses of women, Not if I had ten mouths, not if I had ten tongues.
Misfortunes often sharpen the genius.
I am above being injured by fortune, though she steals away much, more will remain with me. The blessing I now enjoy transcend fear.
What is now an act of reason, was but blind impulse.
Every lover is a soldier.