We like so much to talk of ourselves that we are never weary of those private interviews with a lover during the course of whole years, and for the same reason the devout like to spend much time with their confessor; it is the pleasure of talking of themselves, even though it be to talk ill.

Happiness, like misfortunes, never comes alone.

There is no real evil in life, except great pain; all the rest is imaginary, and depends on the light in which we view things

True friendship is never serene.

Oh Dear! How unfortunate I am not to have anyone to weep with!

We like so much to hear people talk of us and of our motives, that we are charmed even when they abuse us.

Thicken your religion a little. It is evaporating altogether by being subtilized.