We are like vessels tossed on the bosom of the deep; our passions are the winds that sweep us impetuously forward; each pleasure is a rock; the whole life is a wide ocean. Reason is the pilot to guide us, but often allows itself to be led astray by the storms of pride.

Cowards' weapons neither cut nor pierce.

An old warrior is never in haste to strike the blow.

The eye that gazes upon the sun sees not the orb it looks upon, confounded by the excess of its brightness.

High birth is an accident, not a virtue.

The canker which the trunk conceals is revealed by the leaves, the fruit, or the flower.

If our inward griefs were written on our brows, how many who are envied now would be pitied. It would seem that they had their deadliest foe in their own breast, and their whole happiness would be reduced to mere seeming.