Reproach Is Usually Honest, Which Is More

The Press Is Like A Woman: Sublime When It Lies, It Will Not Let Go Until It Has Forced You To Believe It. The Public, Like A Foolish Husband, Always Succumbs.

Hatred Is The Vice Of Narrow Souls; They Feed It With All Their Littleness, And Make It The Pretext Of Base Tyrannies.

Do You Know How A Man Makes His Way Here? By Brilliant Genius Or By Skilful Corruption. You Must Either Cut Your Way Through These Masses Of Men Like A Cannon Ball, Or Steal Among Them Like A Plague.

Most Women Wish To Feel That Their Spirit Has Been Violated. Do They Not, Indeed, Flatter Themselves On Never Yielding Save To Force?

A Great Writer Is Nothing Less Than A Martyr Who Does Not Die.