We cannot too soon convince ourselves how easily we may be dispensed with in the world. What important personages we imagine ourselves to be! We think that we alone are the life of the circle in which we move; in our absence, we fancy that life, existence, breath will come to a general pause, and, alas, the gap which we leave is scarcely perceptible, so quickly is it filled again; nay, it is often the place, if not of something better, at least for something more agreeable.

The world is so great and rich, and life so full of variety, that you can never lack occasions for poems.

Be always resolute with the present hour. Every moment is of infinite value.

Willing is not enough, we must do.

Is it not enough that we cannot make one another happy, must we also rob one another of the pleasures that any heart may permit itself now and then? And name me a person who in a bad mood will be decent enough to hide it, to bear it alone, without destroying the joy around him. Is it not rather an inner dissatisfaction with our own unworthiness, a dislike of ourselves that is always associated with envy aggravated by foolish conceit? We see people happy and not made happy by us, and that is unbearable.

The brilliant passes, like the dew at morn; The true endures, for ages yet unborn.

The public wishes itself to be managed like a woman; one must say nothing to it except what it likes to hear.