The hatred we bear our enemies injures their happiness less than our own.

Genius, like a torch, shines less in the broad daylight of the present than in the night of the past.

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

Nothing for preserving the body like having no heart.

An angry woman is vindictive beyond measure, and hesitates at nothing in her bitterness.

We find ourselves less witty in remembering what we have said than in dreaming of what we would have said.

The great chastisement of a knave is not to be known, but to know himself.