You Are My Peace, My

New-born Desires, After All, Have Inexplicable Charms, And All The Pleasure Of Love Is In Variety.

Frenchmen Have An Unlimited Capacity For Gallantry And Indulge It On Every Occasion.

We Are All Mortals, And Each Is For Himself.

Esteem Must Be Founded On Some Sort Of Preference. Bestow It On Everybody And It Ceases To Have Any Meaning At All.

Gold Gives To The Ugliest Thing A Certain Charming Air, For That Without It Were Else A Miserable Affair.