Let Us Love Winter, For It Is

I Am, Indeed, A King, Because I Know How To Rule Myself.

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.

Desire Is Poison At Lunch And Wormwood At Dinner; Your Bed Is A Stone, Friendship Is Hateful And Your Fancy Is Always Fixed On One Thing.

With A Goose-quill And A Few Sheets Of Paper, I Mock Myself Of The Universe. They Say I Am The Son Of A Courtesan; It May Be So, But I Have The Heart Of A King. I Live Free, I Enjoy Myself, I Can Call Myself Happy.

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