Age has a good mind and sorry shanks.

The art of war is like the art of the courtesan; indeed they might be called sisters, since both are slaves of desperation.

I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.

We are the buffoons of our children.

Flee laziness which while it produces an immediate delight, ends in the sorrow of repentance. And know that nature without exercise is a seed shut up in the pod, and art without practice is nothing.

With a goose-quill and a few sheets of paper, I mock myself of the universe. They say I am the son of a courtesan; it may be so, but I have the heart of a King. I live free, I enjoy myself, I can call myself happy.

I am, indeed, a king, because I know how to rule myself.