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.

Jealousy contains more of self-love than of love.

All the passions are nothing else than different degrees of heat and cold of the blood.

There is a kind of elevation which does not depend on fortune; it is a certain air which distinguishes us, and seems to destine us for great things; it is a price which we imperceptibly set upon ourselves.

The common foible of women who have been handsome is to forget that they are no longer so.

Self-love, as it happens to be well or ill conducted, constitutes virtue and vice.

What makes false reckoning, as regards gratitude, is that the pride of the giver and the receiver cannot agree as to the value of the benefit.