Our self-love can less bear to have our tastes than our opinions condemned.

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

The constancy of sages is nothing but the art of locking up their agitation in their hearts.

It is as common for tastes to change as it is uncommon for traits of character.

We may sooner be brought to love them that hate us, than them that love us more than we would have them do.

No matter how much care we put into hiding our passions under the appearances of devotion and honor, they can always be seen to peer out through these covers.

Love, like fire, cannot subsist without constant impulse; it ceases to live from the moment it ceases to hope or to fear.