Unrequited love is as different from the mutual love as the error from the truth.
One never knows how much a family may grow; and when a hive is too full, and it is necessary to form a new swarm, each one thinks of carrying away his own honey.
Vanity is the quicksand of reason.
Masterpieces are only lucky attempts.
Weeds are omnipresent; errors are to be found in the heart of the most lovable.
Nature distributes her favors unequally.