Honor is like an island, rugged and without a beach; once we have left it, we can never return.

In spite of every sage whom Greece can show, Unerring wisdom never dwelt below; Folly in all of every age we see, The only difference lies in the degree.

He [Moliere] pleases all the world, but cannot please himself.

With poverty everything becomes frightful.

But satire, ever moral, ever new, Delights the reader and instructs him, too. She, if good sense refine her sterling page, Oft shakes some rooted folly of the age.

A proud bigot, who is vain enough to think that he can deceive even God by affected zeal, and throwing the veil of holiness over vices, damns all mankind by the word of his power.

Time flies and draws us with it. The moment in which I am speaking is already far from me.