Behind Every Fortune There Is A Crime.

There Is A Cure For Temptation. What? Yielding To It.

The Pleasures Of Love Proceed Successively From A Distich To A Quatrain, From A Quatrain To A Sonnet, From A Sonnet To A Ballad, From A Ballad To An Ode, From An Ode To A Cantata, And From A Cantata To A Dithyramb. A Husband Who Begins With The Dithyramb Is A Fool.

When We Drink Coffee, Ideas March In Like The Army

Like Evil, Sublimity Is Also Contagious.

Love Passes Quickly, And Passes Like A Street Arab, Anxious To Mark His Way With Mischief.