Men are nothing until they are excited.

We feel a kind of bittersweet pricking of malicious delight in contemplating the misfortunes of others.

Let us permit nature to have her way. She understands her business better than we do.

Lucius Arruntius killed himself, he said, to escape both the future and the past.

We have the pleasures suitable to our lot; let us not usurp those of greatness. Ours are more natural and all the more solid and sure for being humbler. Since we will not do so out of conscience, at least out of ambition let us reject ambition.

When Socrates, after being relieved of his irons, felt the relish of the itching that their weight had caused in his legs, he rejoiced to consider the close alliance between pain and pleasure.

We only labor to stuff the memory, and leave the conscience and the understanding unfurnished and void.