False modesty is the refinement of vanity. It is a lie.

We wish to constitute all the happiness, or, if that cannot be, the misery of the one we love.

A simple garb is the proper costume of the vulgar; it is cut for them, and exactly suits their measure, but it is an ornament for those who have filled up their lives with great deeds. I liken them to beauty in dishabille, but more bewitching on that account.

I take sanctuary in an honest mediocrity.

At the beginning and at the end of love, the two lovers are embarrassed to find themselves alone.

Eminent station makes great men more great, and little ones less.

Criticism is as often a trade as a science, requiring, as it does, more health than wit, more labour than capacity, more practice than genius.