A person well satisfied with themselves is seldom satisfied with others, and others, rarely are with them.

The desire of talking of ourselves, and showing those faults we do not mind having seen, makes up a good part of our sincerity.

Jealousy is in some measure just and reasonable, since it merely aims at keeping something that belongs to us or we think belongsto us, whereas envy is a frenzy that cannot bear anything that belongs to others.

How deceitful hope may be, yet she carries us on pleasantly to the end of life.

The prospect of being pleased tomorrow will never console me for the boredom of today.

However rare true love may be, it is less so than true friendship.

Fortune mends more faults in us than ever reason would be able to do.