I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
Two in distressmake sorrow less.
I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself.
It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
Adulterers, take warning, never admit.
Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy cur you meet, carry it for the time needed for it to love it and you it, then throw it away.