Our interests are grains of opium to our consciences, but they only put it to sleep for a terrible awakening.

The grave is a crucible where memory is purified; we only remember a dead friend by those qualities which make him regretted.

To protect ourselves against the storms of passion, marriage with a woman is a harbor in the tempest; but with a bad woman it is a tempest in the harbor.

Let us respect gray Lairs, but, above all, our own.

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

Age whitens hairs, but not sin.

We are told to walk noiselessly through the world, that we may waken neither hatred, nor envy; but, alas! what can we do when they never sleep!