The praise we seek for our own virtues sometimes tempts us to flatter the imperfections of other men.

Envy, like a false mirror, distorts the symmetry of the sweetest form.

I hate fame. I hate being recognized, because I don't know how to talk to people.

Some men mistake generosity for charity: these flatter themselves that they are giving gratuitously, whilst they are merely rewarding secret services offered their vanity.

The character of giving advice often makes us accountable for the conduct of those we advise.

As evacuation eases the body, so occasional ejectment of passion seems to appease the agonies of the soul, and dispose to tranquility the agitations of the heart.

You know, with Hitler, the more I learn about that guy, the more I don't care for him.