When our friends are alive, we see the good qualities they lack; dead, we remember only those they possessed.

There are wounds of self-love which one does not confess to one's dearest friends.

Religion is the hospital of the souls that the world has wounded.

The happiness of the tender heart is increased by what it can take away from the wretchedness of others.

It is almost impossible to find those who admire us entirely lacking in taste.

Experience unveils too late the snares laid for youth; it is the white frost which discovers the spider's web when the flies are no longer there to be caught.

Happiness is where we find it, but rarely where we seek it.