Wrinkles And Ill-nature Together Made A Woman

Satire Is The Disease Of Art.

Society ... Is Nothing More Than The War Of A Thousand Petty Opposed Interests, An Eternal Strife Of All The Vanities, Which, Turn In Turn Wounded And Humiliated One By The Other, Intercross, Come Into Collision, And On The Morrow Expiate The Triumph Of The Eve In The Bitterness Of Defeat. To Live Alone, To Remain Unjostled In This Miserable Struggle, Where For A Moment One Draws The Eyes Of The Spectators, To Be Crushed A Moment Later -- This Is What Is Called Being A Nonentity, Having No Existence. Poor Humanity!

The Sunset Glow Of Self-possession.

His Passions Make Man Live, His Wisdom Merely Makes Him Last.

Contemptuous People Are Sure To Be Contemptible.