All art is quite useless.

Writing bores me so.

Everything popular is wrong.

Who, being loved, is poor?

Only the shallow know themselves.

There is no sin except stupidity.

Hatred is blind, as well as love.

Alas, I am dying beyond my means.

Charity creates a multitude of sins.

True friends stab you in the front.

Those whom the gods love grow young.

The basis of optimism is sheer terror.

Biography lends to death a new terror.

It is always the unreadable that occurs.

Nothing is so aggravating than calmness.

Why was I born with such contemporaries?

I am not young enough to know everything.

When good Americans die they go to Paris.

She is a peacock in everything but beauty.

I can resist everything except temptation.