Talk about yourself as much as you like, but do not expect others to listen.
Folly always knows the answer.
Never ask a bore a question.
Many gloat over their own troubles.
The beloved is the ultimate fetish.
The body has a mind of its own.
Mind and body obstruct one another’s pleasures.
The shades of respectability begin to close about the greying head.
Language is the friendliest of the things from which we cannot escape.
While we are reading, we are all Don Quixote.
Taste refers to the past, imagination to the future.
Self-reform is the only kind that works.
When sages commend excess, Desire is sick.
In psychoanalysis, only the fee is exactly what it seems to be.
Seeing my malevolent face in the mirror, my benevolent soul shrinks back.
Opportunity knocks, but doesn’t always answer to its name.
Hatred observes with more care than love does.
City people make most of the fuss about the charms of country life.
The gods are watching, but idly, yawning.
Imagination has rules, but we can only guess what they are.