We speak little if not egged on by vanity.

If we are to judge of love by its consequences, it more nearly resembles hatred than friendship.

We arrive at the various stages of life quite as novices.

One kind of happiness is to know exactly at what point to be miserable.

Friendship is a traffic wherein self-love always proposes to be the gainer.

Everyone blames his memory, no one blames his judgment.

Of all our faults, the one we avow most easily is idleness; we persuade ourselves that it is allied to all the peaceable virtues,and as for the others, that it does not destroy them utterly, but only suspends the exercise of their functions.