When our hatred is violent, it sinks us even beneath those we hate.

The generality of men have, like plants, latent properties, which chance brings to light.

If there be a love pure and free from the admixture of our other passions, it is that which lies hidden in the bottom of our heart, and which we know not ourselves.

Everyone blames his memory, no one blames his judgment.

Confidence in conversation has a greater share than wit.

Idleness and constancy fix the mind to what it finds easy and agreeable. This habit always confines and cramps up our knowledge; and no one has ever taken the trouble to stretch and carry his understanding as far as it could go.

We endeavor to make a virtue of the faults we are unwilling to correct.