All that time is lost which might be better employed.

Each member of the community gives himself to it at the instant of its constitution, just as he actually is, himself and all his forces, including all goods in his possession.

Remorse sleeps in the atmosphere of prosperity.

In all the ills that befall us, we are more concerned by the intention than the result. A tile that falls off a roof may injure us more seriously, but it will not wound us so deeply as a stone thrown deliberately by a malevolent hand. The blow may miss, but the intention always strikes home.

To abstain that we may enjoy is the epicurianism of reason.

She was dull, unattractive, couldn't tell the time, count money or tie her own shoe laces... But I loved her

Childhood is the sleep of reason.