In Love, Writing Is Dangerous,

Why, In Truth, Sir," Was Monte Cristo's Reply, "man Is But An Ugly Caterpillar For Him Who Studies Him Through A Solar Microscope; But You Said, I Think, That I Had Nothing Else To Do. Now, Really, Let Me Ask, Sir, Have You? — Do You Believe You Have Anything To Do? Or To Speak In Plain Terms, Do You Really Think That What You Do Deserves Being Called Anything?

I Prefer The Wicked Rather Than The Foolish. The Wicked Sometimes Rest.

On What Slender Threads Do Life And Fortune Hang.

Happiness Is Like Those Palaces In Fairy Tales Whose Gates Are Guarded By Dragons: We Must Fight In Order To Conquer It.

I Am Hungry, Feed Me; I Am Bored, Amuse Me.