I Wished For Nothing Beyond Her Smile,

Each Of Us Really Understands In Others Only Those Feelings He Is Capable Of Producing Himself.

The Less Intelligent The White Man Is, The More Stupid He Thinks The Black.

We No Longer Admit Any Other Truth Than That Which Is Expedient; For There Is No Worse Error Than The Truth That May Weaken The Arm That Is Fighting.

Sadness Is Almost Never Anything But A Form Of Fatigue.

The Miser Puts His Gold Pieces Into A Coffer; But As Soon As The Coffer Is Closed, It Is As If It Were Empty.