It is easy for men to write and talk like philosophers, but to act with wisdom, there is the rub!

Vices are often habits rather than passions.

That which happens to the soil when it ceases to be cultivated by the social man happens to man himself when he foolishly forsakes society for solitude; the brambles grow up in his desert heart.

The subtle sauce of malice is often indulged in by maidens of uncertain age, over their tea.

Man spends his life in reasoning on the past, in complaining of the present, in fearing future.

What isn’t clear, isn’t French.

True felicity consists of its own consciousness.