It would seem that by our sorrows only are we called to a knowledge of the Infinite. Are we happy? The limits of life constrain us on all sides.

When fresh sorrows have caused us to take some steps in the right way, we may not complain. We have invested in a life annuity, but the income remains.

We must labor unceasingly to render our piety reasonable, and our reason pious.

It is a little stream, which flows softly, but freshens everything along its course.

Strength alone knows conflict, weakness is born vanquished.

Travel is the frivolous part of serious lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones.

Love sometimes elevates, creates new qualities, suspends the working of evil inclinations; but only for a day. Love, then, is an Oriental despot, whose glance lifts a slave from the dust, and then consigns him to it again.