I find that the best virtue I have has in it some tincture of vice.

It has never occurred to me to wish for empire or royalty, nor for the eminence of those high and commanding fortunes. My aim lies not in that direction; I love myself too well.

We are all patchwork, and so shapeless and diverse in composition that each bit, each moment, plays its own game.

Lying is a terrible vice, it testifies that one despises God, but fears men.

Only he can judge of matters great and high whose soul is likewise.

Marriage has, for its share, usefulness, justice, honour, and constancy; a stale but more durable pleasure. Love is grounded on pleasure alone, and it is indeed more gratifying to the senses, keener and more acute; a pleasure stirred and kept alive by difficulties. There must be a sting and a smart in it. It ceases to be love if it has no shafts and no fire.

Men are nothing until they are excited.