When a woman has the gift of silence she possesses a quality above the vulgar. It is a gift of Heaven seldom bestowed; without a little miracle it cannot be accomplished; and Nature suffers violence when Heaven puts a woman in the humor of observing silence.

I don't know how to defend myself: surprised innocence cannot imagine being under suspicion.

Your heart is mine; there I reign. I am content.

The fire which seems extinguished often slumbers beneath the ashes.

I am Roman, alas, because Horace is Roman.

To myself alone do I owe my fame.

He who is hated by all can not expect to live long.