Our virtues are often, in reality, no better than vices disguised.

Chance corrects us of many faults that reason would not know how to correct.

When the soul is ruffled by the remains of one passion, it is more disposed to entertain a new one than when it is entirely curedand at rest from all.

The reason we do not let our friends see the very bottom of our hearts is not so much distrust of them as distrust of ourselves.

Humility is often only a feigned submissiveness by which men hope to bring other people to submit to them; it is a more calculated sort of pride.

Old age is a tyrant, who forbids, under pain of death, the pleasures of youth.

If we did not have pride, we would not complain of it in others.