In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.

He Who Surpasses Or Subdues Mankind, Must Look Down On The Hate Of Those Below.

Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

Time Strips Our Illusions Of Their Hue, And One By One In Turn, Some Grand Mistake Casts Off Its Bright Skin Yearly Like The Snake.

There Is No Passion, More Spectral Or Fantastical Than Hate, Not Even Its Opposite, Love, So Peoples Air, With Phantoms, As This Madness Of The Heart.

Sweet Is Revenge-especially To Women.