There are few people who would not be ashamed of being loved when they love no longer.

Pity is a sense of our own misfortunes in those of another man; it is a sort of foresight of the disasters which may befall ourselves. We assist others,, in order that they may assist us on like occasions; so that the services we offer to the unfortunate are in reality so many anticipated kindnesses to ourselves.

It is a species of coquetry to make a parade of never practising it.

Jealousy is not love, but self-love.

Extreme boredom provides its own antidote.

It is a mistake to imagine, that the violent passions only, such as ambition and love, can triumph over the rest. Idleness, languid as it is, often masters them all; she influences all our designs and actions, and insensibly consumes and destroys both passions and virtues.

We do not despise all those who have vices, but we do despise those that have no virtue.