It is death that is the guide of our life, and our life has no goal but death.

How strangely do we diminish a thing as soon as we try to express it in words.

To be happy is only to have freed one's soul from the unrest of unhappiness.

When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.

Our reason may prove what it will: our reason is only a feeble ray that has issued from Nature.

Sacrifice may be a flower that virtue will pluck on its road, but it was not to gather this flower that virtue set forth on its travels.

If you love yourself meanly, childishly, timidly, even so shall you love your neighbor.