The force we use on ourselves, to prevent ourselves from loving, is often more cruel than the severest treatment at the hands of one loved.

There are fine things that are more brilliant when they are unfinished than when finished too much.

The world is full of pots jeering at kettles.

Ideas often flash across our minds more complete than we could make them after much labor.

There is a sort of love whose very excessiveness prevents the lover's being jealous.

The sure way to be cheated is to think one's self more cunning than others.

Whatever distrust we may have of the sincerity of those who converse with us, we always believe they will tell us more truth than they do to others.