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Some lives seem to be much more delightful than others�

I wrote it with a playful pen and melancholy ink and it isn’t hard to foresee what can come out of that marriage. I might add that serious people will find some semblance of a normal novel, while frivolous people won’t find their usual one here. There it stands, deprived of the esteem of the serious and the love of the frivolous, the two main pillars of opinion.

Although The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas are written in a very frolicsome manner the book is abundant in precise and deep observations of human nature. So the novel may even be considered as an earthy parable of existence.

I had a passion for ballyhoo, the limelight, fireworks. More modest people will censure me perhaps for this defect. I’m confident, however, that clever people will recognize this talent of mine. So my idea had two faces, like a medal, one turned toward the public and the other toward me. On one side philanthropy and profit, on the other a thirst for fame.

The narration is as alluring and sparkling as a flute of effervescent champagne and it is as much pleasant and inebriating too.

Men are worth something in different ways, and the surest one of all is being worthy in the opinion of other men.

We are what we are in the eyes of others so do never forget to pull the wool over the other people’s eyes�

Note that I’m not making a man a simple vehicle of Humanitas. He is vehicle, passenger, and coachman all at the same time. He is Humanitas itself in a reduced form. It follows from that that there is a need for him to worship himself.

If man couldn’t love himself nobody would love him.