Our worries always come from our weaknesses.

There are people who are virtuous only in a piece-meal way; virtue is a fabric from which they never make themselves a whole garment.

When my friends lack an eye, I look at them in profile.

Tormented by the cursed ambition always to put a whole book in a page, a whole page in a sentence, and this sentence in a word. I am speaking of myself.

To reason, to argue. It is to walk with crutches in search of the truth. We come to it with a leap.

Slander is the solace of malignity.

It is not my words that I polish, but my ideas.