A Blaspheming Frenchman Is A

Pretty Women Without Religion Are Like Flowers Without Perfume.

Every Period Of Time Is A Sphinx That Throws Itself Into The Abyss As Soon As Its Riddle Has Been Solved.

I Will Not Say That Women Have No Character; Rather, They Have A New One Every Day.

On The Waves Of The Brook She Dances By, The Light, The Lovely Dragon-fly; She Dances Here, She Dances There, The Shimmering, Glimmering Flutterer Fair. And Many A Foolish Young Beetle's Impressed By The Blue Gauze Gown In Which She Is Dressed; They Admire The Enamel That Decks Her Bright, And Her Elegant Waist So Slim And Slight.

Mine Is A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Wishes Are: A Humble Cottage With A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, The Freshest Milk And Butter, Flowers Before My Window, And A Few Fine Trees Before My Door; And If God Wants To Make My Happiness Complete, He Will Grant Me The Joy Of Seeing Some Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanging From Those Trees. Before Death I Shall, Moved In My Heart, Forgive Them All The Wrong They Did Me In Their Lifetime. One Must, It Is True, Forgive One's Enemies-- But Not Before They Have Been Hanged.