A man for whom accident discovers sense, is not a rational being. A man only is so who understands, who distinguishes, who tests it.

That man, we may be sure, is a person of true worth, whom those who envy him most are yet forced to praise.

The constancy of sages is nothing but the art of locking up their agitation in their hearts.

One can no more look steadily at death than at the sun.

The esteem of good men is the reward of our worth, but the reputation of the world in general is the gift of our fate.

Cunning and treachery are the offspring of incapacity.

The pleasure of love is in the loving; and there is more joy in the passion one feels than in that which one inspires.