Why do we discover faults so much more readily than perfection.

long journeys are strange things: if we were always to continue in the same mind we are in at the end of a journey, we should never stir from the place we were then in: but Providence in kindness to us causes us to forget it. It is much the same with lying-in women. Heaven permits this forgetfulness that the world may be peopled, and that folks may take journeys to Provence.

I do not like to employ secretaries that have more wit than myself. I am afraid to make them write all my nonsense.

I love you so passionately, that I hide a great part of my love, so as not to oppress you with it.

When I step into this library, I cannot understand why I ever step out of it.

I know of no sorrow greater than that occasioned by a delay of the post.

It is thus that we walk through the world like the blind, not knowing whither we are going, regarding as bad what is good, regarding as good what is bad, and ever in entire ignorance.