Love in France is a comedy; in England a tragedy; in Italy an opera seria; and in Germany a melodrama.

Love matches are made by people who are content, for a month of honey, to condemn themselves to a life of vinegar.

Society seldom forgives those who have discovered the emptiness of its pleasures, and who can live independent of it and them.

Spring is the season of hope, and autumn is that of memory.

He who fears not, is to be feared.

The vices of the rich and great are mistaken for error; and those of the poor and lowly, for crimes.

Society punishes not the vices of its members, but their detection.