So much of our lives is given over to the consideration of our imperfections that there is no time to improve our imaginary virtues. The truth is we only perfect our vices, and man is a worse creature when he dies than he was when he was born.

The bad poet is a toady mimicking nature.

It takes a long time to understand nothing.

Though man is the only beast that can write, he has small reason to be proud of it. When he utters something that is wise it is nothing that the river horse does not know, and most of his creations are the result of accident.

I know sage, wormwood, and hyssop, but I can't smell character unless it stinks.

It is hideous and coarse to assume that we can do something for others-and it is vile not to endeavor to do it.

The machine has had a pernicious effect upon virtue, pity, and love, and young men used to machines which induce inertia, and fear, are near impotent.