Friendship is a plant that loves the sun, thrives ill under clouds.

Every sin provokes its punishment.

Good-humor, gay spirits, are the liberators, the sure cure for spleen and melancholy. Deeper than tears, these irradiate the tophets with their glad heavens. Go laugh, vent the pits, transmuting imps into angels by the alchemy of smiles. The satans flee at the sight of these redeemers.

No one is promiscuous in his way of dying. A man who has decided to hang himself will never jump in front of a train.

Our friends interpret the world and ourselves to us, if we take them tenderly and truly.

Sympathy wanting, all is wanting; its personal magnetism is the conductor of the sacred spark that lights our atoms, puts us m human communion, and gives us to company, conversation, and ourselves.

The head best leaves to the heart what the heart alone divines.