Solitude Terrifies The Soul At Twenty.

Betrayed And Wronged In Everything, I’ll Flee This Bitter World Where Vice Is King, And Seek Some Spot Unpeopled And Apart Where I’ll Be Free To Have An Honest Heart. - Molière, The Misanthrope

Innocence Is Not Accustomed To Blush. [fr., L'innocence A Rougir N'est Point Accoutumee.]

It Infuriates Me To Be Wrong When I Know I'm Right.

It May Cost Me Twenty Thousand Francs; But For Twenty Thousand Francs, I Will Have The Right To Rail Against The Iniquity Of Humanity, And To Devote To It My Eternal Hatred.

I Recover My Property Wherever I Find It.