It is easier to win love than to keep it.
It is easier to die for a cause than to live for it.
Old age appears hideous to us until we have to choose between it and death.
It is only love that has already fallen sick that is killed by absence.
We only make a dupe of the friend whose advice we ask, for we never tell him all; and it is usually what we have left unsaid that decides our conduct.
Men at any age truly never grow up. All, no matter what importance they may have attained, are still no more than little boys.