One forgives to the degree that one loves.

It is not in the power of even the most crafty dissimulation to conceal love long, where it really is, nor to counterfeit it long where it is not.

All the passions make us commit faults; love makes us commit the most ridiculous ones.

One is never fortunate or as unfortunate as one imagines.

What often prevents our abandoning ourselves to a single vice is, our having more than one.

Most of our faults are more pardonable than the means we use to conceal them.

Friendship is a traffic wherein self-love always proposes to be the gainer.