The character we exhibit in the latter half of our life need not necessarily be, though it often is, our original character, developed further, dried up, exaggerated, or diminished. It can be its exact opposite, like a suit worn inside out.

But sometimes the future is latent in us without our knowing it, and our supposedly lying words foreshadow an imminent reality.

Our memory is like a shop in the window of which is exposed now one, now another photograph of the same person. And as a rule the most recent exhibit remains for some time the only one to be seen.

Our desires cut across one another, and in this confused existence it is rare for happiness to coincide with the desire that clamoured for it.

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

That which we remember of our conduct is ignored by our closest neighbour; but that which we have forgotten having said, or even what we never said, will cause laughter even into the next world.

A woman one loves rarely suffices for all our needs, so we deceive her with another whom we do not love.