Happiness seems made to be shared.
Self-love is the source of all our other loves.
Love lives on hope, and dies when hope is dead; It is a flame which sinks for lack of fuel.
How delicious is pleasure after torment!
These flattering mirrors reflect imperfectly what is within; the countenance is often a gay deceiver. What defects of mind lie hidden under its beauty! What fair exteriors conceal base souls!
Alas, I emerge from one disaster to fall into a worse.