It hurts to watch the fluency of a body acclimated to its shackling.

Shame on the soul, to falter on the road of life while the body still perseveres.

I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.

What are men anyway but balloons on legs, a lot of blown-up bladders?

Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.