Poetry is a whim of Nature in her lighter moods; it requires nothing but its own madness and, lacking that, it becomes a soundless cymbal, a belfry without a bell.

A man who permits his honor to be taken, permits his life to be taken.

Even when I'm railed at, I get my quota of renown.

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.

Anger represents a certain power, when a great mind, prevented from executing its own generous desires, is moved by it.

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

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.