The continuous work of our life is to build death.

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

The laws of conscience, though we ascribe them to nature, actually come from custom.

Intoxication is calculated to put heart into the elderly and give them delight in dancing.

To compose our character is our duty, not to compose books, and to win, not battles and provinces, but order and tranquility in our conduct. Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately. All other things, ruling, hoarding, building, are only little appendages and props, at most.

The bees pillage the flowers here and there but they make honey of them which is all their own; it is no longer thyme or marjolaine: so the pieces borrowed from others he will transform and mix up into a work all his own.

The great and glorious masterpiece of humanity is to know how to live with a purpose.