I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.

A pleasing face is no small advantage.

Pleasure is sweetest when 'tis paid for by another's pain.

Thus I am not able to exist either with you or without you; and I seem not to know my own wishes.

Time glides away and as we get older through the noiseless years; the days flee and are restrained by no reign.

Women can always be caught; that's the first rule of the game.

Pluck with quick hand the fruit that passes.