Sickness is mankind's greatest defect.

Bad writers are those who try to express their own feeble ideas in the language of good ones.

If it were true what in the end would be gained? Nothing but another truth. Is this such a mighty advantage? We have enough old truths still to digest, and even these we would be quite unable to endure if we did not sometimes flavor them with lies.

When an acquaintance goes by I often step back from my window, not so much to spare him the effort of acknowledging me as to spare myself the embarrassment of seeing that he has not done so.

We have no words for speaking of wisdom to the stupid. He who understands the wise is wise already.

Pain warns us not to exert our limbs to the point of breaking them. How much knowledge would we not need to recognize this by the exercise of mere reason.

The sure conviction that we could if we wanted to is the reason so many good minds are idle.