Everyone complains of his memory, and nobody complains of his judgment.

The distempers of the soul have their relapses, as many and as dangerous as those of the body; and what we take for a perfect cureis generally either an abatement of the same disease or the changing of that for another.

None deserve praise for being good who have not the spirit to be bad: goodness, for the most part, is nothing but indolence or weakness of will.

Death and the sun are not to be looked at steadily.

Virtue would go far if vanity did not keep it company.

A work can become modern only if it is first postmodern. Postmodernism thus understood is not modernism at its end but in the nascent state, and this state is constant.

Idleness and fear keeps us in the path of duty, but our virtue often gets the praise.