I cannot keep track of all the vagaries of fashion, Every day, so it seems, brings in a different style.
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps with it alone, she lives.
Fortune resists half-hearted prayers.
One does not yearn for that which is easily acquired.
Love is born of idleness and, once born, by idleness is fostered.
The sharp thorn often produces delicate roses.