The more I see of the world, the more am i dissatisfied with it; and everyday confirms my belief of the inconsistencies of all human.

I read it [history] a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all — it is very tiresome: and yet I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention.

But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible.

There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time.

And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess? I pity you. I thought you cleverer; for depend upon it, a lucky guess is never merely luck. There is always some talent in it.

For what do we live, but to make sport by subjecting our neighbors to endless discretionary review for minor additions?

There is not the hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom that there ought to be. Our foggy climate wants help.