Days, months, years fly away, and irrecoverably sink in the abyss of time.
A well-born man is fortunate, but so is the man about whom people no longer ask, 'is he well-born?'
It is through madness that we hate an enemy, and think of revenging ourselves; and it is through indolence that we are appeased, and do not revenge ourselves.
One must laugh before one is happy, or one may die without ever laughing at all.
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!
No man is so perfect, so necessary to his friends as to give them no cause to miss him less.