Let Us Love Winter, For It Is

There Is No Food More Satiating Than Milk And Honey; And Just As Such Foods Produce Disgust For The Palate, So Perfumed And Gallant Words Make Our Ears Belch.

The Art Of War Is Like The Art Of The Courtesan; Indeed They Might Be Called Sisters, Since Both Are Slaves Of Desperation.

What Evil Is There In Seeing A Man Possess A Woman? Why, The Beasts Would Be More Free Than We! It Seems To Me That That Which Is Given Us By Nature For Our Own Preservation Ought To Be Worn Round The Neck As A Pendant And In The Hat For A Medal.

Poetry Is A Whim Of Nature In Her Lighter Moods; It Requires Nothing But Its Own Madness And, Lacking That, It Becomes A Soundless Cymbal, A Belfry Without A Bell.

A High Heart Ought To Bear Calamities And Not Flee Them, Since In Bearing Them Appears The Grandeur Of The Mind And In Fleeing Them The Cowardice Of The Heart.