Prosperity makes few friends.

Every thought is new when an author expresses it in a manner peculiar to himself.

Glory fills the world with virtue, and, like a beneficent sun, covers the whole earth with flowers and with fruits.

If passion sometimes counsels greater boldness than does reflection, it gives more strength to execute it.

The counsels of the old, like the winter sun, shine, but give no heat.

Our virtues are dearer to us the more we have had to suffer for them. It is the same with our children. All profound affection admits a sacrifice.

Few people are modest enough to be estimated at their true worth.