To think to be wise alone is a very great folly.

Fortune mends more faults in us than ever reason would be able to do.

In misfortune we often mistake dejection for constancy; we bear it without daring to look on it; like cowards, who suffer themselves to be murdered without resistance.

It seems that nature, which has so wisely disposed our bodily organs with a view to our happiness, has also bestowed on us pride, to spare us the pain of being aware of our imperfections.

Commonplace minds usually condemn what is beyond the reach of their understanding.

There are bad people who would be less dangerous if they were quite devoid of goodness.

There is an excess both in happiness and misery above our power of sensation.