I swear that, not being able to be yours, I will belong to no one.
Satire lies about literary men while they live and eulogy lies about them when they die.
It is not a mistress I have lost but half of myself, a soul for which my soul seems to have been made.
Everything can be borne except contempt.
What can you say to a man who tells you he prefers obeying God rather than men, and that as a result he's certain he'll go to heaven if he cuts your throat?
The supposed right of intolerance is absurd and barbaric. It is the right of the tiger; nay, it is far worse, for tigers do but tear in order to have food, while we rend each other for paragraphs.