When all is summed up, a man never speaks of himself without loss; his accusations of himself are always believed; his praises never.

It is a stupid presumption to go about despising and condemning as false anything that seems to us improbable; this is a common fault in those who think they have more intelligence than the crowd.

... whoever believes anything esteems that it is a work of charity to persuade another of it.

Why did I love her? Because it was her; because it was me.

In true friendship, in which I am expert, I give myself to my friend more than I draw him to me. I not only like doing him good better than having him do me good, but also would rather have him do good to himself than to me; he does me most good when he does himself good.

What kind of truth is this which is true on one side of a mountain and false on the other?

Time steals away without any inconvenience.