“It is bad taste for a poet to be coarse and hairy.”

Have you ever, looking up, seen a cloud like to a Centaur, a Part, or a Wolf, or a Bull?

You vote yourselves salaries out of the public funds and care only for your own personal interests; hence the state limps along.

These impossible women! How they do get around us! The poet was right: can’t live with them, or without them!

Hunger knows no friend but its feeder.

The gods, my dear simple fellow, are a mere expression coined by vulgar superstition. We frown upon such coinage here.

There is no beast, no rush of fire, like woman so untamed. She calmly goes her way where even panthers would be shamed.

By words the mind is winged.

Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before, advanced a stage or two upon that road which you must travel in the steps they trod.

Tis not for us to warn a wilful sinner; We stay him not, but let him run his course, Till by misfortunes rous’d, his conscience wakes, And prompts him to appease th’ offended gods.

Evil events from evil causes spring.

I saw a cavalry captain buy vegetable soup on horseback. He carried the whole mess home in his helmet.

Words give wings to the mind and make a man soar to heaven.

I would treat her like an egg, the shell of which we remove before eating it; I would take off her mask and then kiss her pretty face.

An insult directed at the wicked is not to be censured; on the contrary, the honest man, if he has sense, can only applaud.

Love is merely the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.

There’s no art where there’s no fee.