Self-love is more cunning than the most cunning man in the world.

It is a wearisome disease to preserve health by too strict a regimen.

The health of the soul is as precarious as that of the body; for when we seem secure from passions, we are no less in danger of their infection than we are of falling ill when we appear to be well.

Moral severity in women is only a dress or paint which they use to set off their beauty.

The mark of extraordinary merit is to see those most envious of it constrained to praise.

Even the most disinterested love is, after all, but a kind of bargain, in which self-love always proposes to be the gainer one wayor another.

Everyone praises his heart, none dare praise their understanding.