The Art Of War Is Like The

Desire Is Poison At Lunch And Wormwood At Dinner; Your Bed Is A Stone, Friendship Is Hateful And Your Fancy Is Always Fixed On One Thing.

I Keep My Friends As Misers Do Their Treasure, Because, Of All The Things Granted Us By Wisdom, None Is Greater Or Better Than Friendship.

We Are The Buffoons Of Our Children.

With A Goose-quill And A Few Sheets Of Paper, I Mock Myself Of The Universe. They Say I Am The Son Of A Courtesan; It May Be So, But I Have The Heart Of A King. I Live Free, I Enjoy Myself, I Can Call Myself Happy.

Let Us Love Winter, For It Is The Spring Of Genius.