Servitude degrades people to such a point that they come to like it.

If our friends do us a service, we think they owe it to us by their title of friend. We never think that they do not owe us their friendship.

The conscience of the dying belies their life.

The favorites of fortune or of fame topple from their pedestals before our eyes without diverting us from ambition.

A man who love only himself and his pleasures is vain, presumptuous, and wicked even from principle.

Everyone is born sincere and dies deceivers.

When we are sick our virtues and our vices are in abeyance.