Jealousy is all the fun you think they had.
For most men life is a search for the proper manila envelope in which to get themselves filed.
When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.
I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer.
All men are frauds. The only difference between them is that some admit it. I myself deny it.
Bacchus hath drowned more men than Neptune.
My pessimism extends to the point of even suspecting the sincerity of the pessimists.