How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!

A mediocre mind thinks it writes divinely; a good mind thinks it writes reasonably.

The finest pleasure is kindness to others.

When we are dead we are praised by those who survive us, though we frequently have no other merit than that of being no longer alive.

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

The sweetest of all sounds is that of the voice of the woman we love.

The pleasure we feel in criticizing robs us from being moved by very beautiful things.