As nice as we are in love, we forgive more faults in that than in friendship.

Seldom do we talk of ourselves with success. If I condemn myself, more is believed than is expressed; if I praise myself, much less.

To a zealot every one of his own sect is a saint, while the most upright of a different sect are to him children of perdition.

Beauty loses its relish; the graces never.

Nothing more excites to everything noble and generous, than virtuous love.

Logic is the art of thinking well: the mind, like the body, requires to be trained before it can use its powers in the most advantageous way.

False praise is always confined to the great.