What is experience? A poor little hut constructed from the ruins of the palace of gold and marble called our illusions.
Poetry is the exquisite expression of exquisite impressions.
Since unhappiness excites interest, many, in order to render themselves interesting, feign unhappiness.
Have friends, not for the sake of receiving, but of giving.
We distrust our heart too much, and our head not enough.
The chief cause of our misery is less the violence of our passions than the feebleness of our virtues.