We are never so happy, nor so unhappy, as we suppose ourselves to be.

Love is one and the same in the original; but there are a thousand different copies of it.

Everyone complains of his memory, and nobody complains of his judgment.

We exaggerate the glory of some men in order to detract from that of others.

We come altogether fresh and raw into the several stages of life, and often find ourselves without experience, despite our years.

If one judges love by the majority of its effects, it is more like hatred than like friendship.

There are some good marriages, but practically no delightful ones.