Jealousy is not so much the love of another as the love of ourselves.

In the intercourse of life, we please more by our faults than by our good qualities.

People are often vain of their passions, even of the worst, but envy is a passion so timid and shame-faced that no one ever dare avow her.

We forgive just so long as we love.

There is many a virtuous woman weary of her trade.

We should often feel ashamed of our best actions if the world could see all the motives which produced them.

When we disclaim praise, it is only showing our desire to be praised a second time.