While we are postponing, life speeds by.

If sensuality were happiness, beasts were happier than men; but human felicity is lodged in the soul, not in the flesh.

There are no greater wretches in the world than many of those whom people in general take to be happy.

Haste trips up its own heels, fetters and stops itself.

I am like a book, with pages that have stuck together for want of use: my mind needs unpacking and the truths stored within must be turned over from time to time, to be ready when occasion demands.

Life's like a play; it's not the length, but the excellence of the acting that matters.

What narrow innocence it is for one to be good only according to the law.