A husband is a plaster that cures all the ills of girlhood.

Betrayed and wronged in everything, I’ll flee this bitter world where vice is king, And seek some spot unpeopled and apart Where I’ll be free to have an honest heart. - Molière, The Misanthrope

We die only once, and for such a long time.

How easily a fathers tenderness is recalled, and how quickly a son's offenses vanish at the slightest word of repentance!

Doubts are more cruel than the worst of truths.

It's an odd job, making decent people laugh.

We ought always to conform to the manners of the greater number, and so behave as not to draw attention to ourselves. Excess either way shocks, and every man truly wise ought to attend to this in his dress as well as language, never to be affected in anything and follow without being in too great haste the changes of fashion.