If magistrates had true justice, and if physicians had the true art of healing, they would have no occasion for square caps; the majesty of these sciences would itself be venerable enough.

All is one, all is different. How many natures exist in man? How many vocations? And by what chance does each man ordinarily choose what he has heard praised?

Being unable to cure death, wretchedness, and ignorance, men have decided, in order to be happy, not to think about such things.

To call a king "Prince" is pleasing, because it diminishes his rank.

Earnestness is enthusiasm tempered by reason.

What a chimera then is man. What a novelty! What a monster... what a contradiction, what a prodigy

All men have happiness as their object: there is no exception. However different the means they employ, they all aim at the same end.