Great things astonish us, and small dishearten us. Custom makes both familiar.

Life is a kind of sleep: old men sleep longest, nor begin to wake but when they are to die.

Days, months, years fly away, and irrecoverably sink in the abyss of time.

It is a great misfortune neither to have enough wit to talk well nor enough judgment to be silent.

To endeavor to forget anyone is a certain way of thinking of nothing else.

The nearer we come to great men the more clearly we see that they are only men. They rarely seem great to their valets.

Caprice in women often infringes upon the rules of decency.