Conscience serves us especially to judge of the actions of others.

The virtuous woman flees from danger; she trusts more to her prudence in shunning it than in her strength to overcome it.

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

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

In love we are not only liable to betray ourselves, but also the secrets of others.

The wonderful fortune of some writers deludes and leads to misery a great number of young people.

Perfect servants would be the worst of all for certain masters, whose happiness consists in finding fault with them.