How sternly we reproach virtue for its failings, how indulgent we are to the better qualities of vice!
Virtue, perhaps, is nothing more than politeness of soul.
To have fame follow us is well, but it is not a desirable avant-courier.
With every one, the expectation of a misfortune constitutes a dreadful, punishment. Suffering then assumes the proportions of the unknown, which is the soul's infinite.
Some troubles, like a protested note of a solvent debtor, bear interest.
Man is no match for woman where mischief reigns.