The philosopher spends in becoming a man the time which the ambitious man spends in becoming a personage.

Present unhappiness is selfish; past sorrow is compassionate.

Reason guides but a small part of man, and the rest obeys feeling, true or false, and passion, good or bad.

What is experience? A poor little hut constructed from the ruins of the palace of gold and marble called our illusions.

Conscientious men are, almost everywhere, less encouraged than tolerated.

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.

Interest, ambition, fortune, time, temper, love, all kill friendship.