Love, Like Fire, Goes Out Without Fuel.

I Am Like A Mariner Born And Bred On Board A Buccaneer Brig Whose Soul Has Become So Inured To Storm And Strife That If Cast Ashore He Would Weary And Languish No Matter How Alluring The Shady Groves And How Bright The Gentle Sun.

You Men Do Not Understand The Delights Of A Glance, Of A Pressure Of The Hand... But As For Me, I Swear To You That, When I Listen To Your Voice, I Feel Such A Deep, Strange Bliss That The Most Passionate Kisses Could Not Take Its Place.

The History Of A Man's Soul, Even The Pettiest Soul, Is Hardly Less Interesting And Useful Than The History Of A Whole People; Especially When The Former Is The Result Of The Observations Of A Mature Mind Upon Itself, And Has Been Written Without Any Egotistical Desire Of Arousing Sympathy Or Astonishment. Rousseau's Confessions Has Precisely This Defect – He Read It To His Friends.

Happy People Are Ignoramuses And Glory Is Nothing Else But Success, And To Achieve It One Only Has To Be Cunning.

One Should Never Spurn A Penitent Criminal: In His Despair He May Become Twice As Much A Criminal As Before.