No Kind Of Sensation Is Keener And

It Is Not My Mode Of Thought That Has Caused My Misfortunes, But The Mode Of Thought Of Others.

The Primary And Most Beautiful Of Nature's Qualities Is Motion, Which Agitates Her At All Times, But This Motion Is Simply A Perpetual Consequence Of Crimes, She Conserves It By Means Of Crimes Only.

Religions Are The Cradles Of Despotism.

For Mortal Men There Is But One Hell, And That Is The Folly And Wickedness And Spite Of His Fellows; But Once His Life Is Over, There's An End To It: His Annihilation Is Final And Entire, Of Him Nothing Survives.

She Had Already Allowed Her Delectable Lover To Pluck That Flower Which, So Different From The Rose To Which It Is Nevertheless Sometimes Compared, Has Not The Same Faculty Of Being Reborn Each Spring.