Time's chariot-wheels make their carriage-road in the fairest face.

Every one complains of a poor memory, no one of a weak judgment.

The constancy of the wise is only the art of keeping disquietude to one's self.

There are several remedies which will cure love, but there are no infallible ones.

Men frequently do good only to give themselves opportunity of doing ill with impunity.

Praise is flattery, artful, hidden, delicate, which gratifies differently him who praises and him who is praised. The one takes it as the reward of merit, the other bestows it to show his impartiality and knowledge.

If one judges love according to the greatest part of the effects it produces, it would appear to resemble rather hatred than kindness.