'Tis the sharpness of our mind that gives the edge to our pains and pleasures.

Who does not in some sort live to others, does not live much to himself.

Is it not enough to make me come back to life out of spite, to have someone who spat in my face while I existed come and rub my feet when I am beginning to exist no longer?

Intelligence is required to be able to know that a man knows not.

There is nothing useless in nature; not even uselessness itself

In plain truth, lying is an accursed vice. We are not men, nor have any other tie upon another, but by our word.

Que sçais-je?" (What do I know?)