She had already allowed her delectable lover to pluck that flower which, so different from the rose to which it is nevertheless sometimes compared, has not the same faculty of being reborn each spring.
I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure.
Sensual excess drives out pity in man.
Are wars anything but the means whereby a nation is nourished, whereby it is strengthened, whereby it is buttressed?
All universal moral principles are idle fancies.
Destruction, hence, like creation, is one of Nature's mandates.
