Truly, one gets easier accustomed to a silken bed than to a sack of leaves.
The world is the same everywhere.
We hear the rain fall, but not the snow. Bitter grief is loud, calm grief is silent.
The vain being is the really solitary being.
All men are selfish, but the vain man is in love with himself. He admires, like the lover his adored one, everything which to others is indifferent.
I have been young and am now old, and have not yet known an untruthful man to come to a good end.