I have no confidence in a man whose faults you cannot see.

There are men that are birds, and their raiment is trembling feathers, for they show their souls to everyone and everything that is ungentle or untutored or evil or mockery is as a rude stone cast at them, and they suffer all day long, or as Paul remarks they are slain every moment.

We are uneasy with an affectionate man, for we are positive he wants something of us, particularly our love.

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.

Who has enough credit in this world to pay for his mistakes?

Man hoards himself when he has nothing to give away.

Nothing in our times has become so unattractive as virtue.