The habit of pleasing by flattery makes a language soft; the fear of offending by truth makes it circuitous and conventional.

The vain poet is of the opinion that nothing of his can be too much: he sends to you basketful after basketful of juiceless fruit, covered with scentless flowers.

Those who in living fill the smallest space, In death have often left the greatest void.

We are no longer happy so soon as we wish to be happier.

Those who speak against the great do not usually speak from morality, but from envy.

O Music! how it grieves me that imprudence, intemperance, gluttony, should open their channels into thy sacred stream.

Two evils, of almost equal weight, may befall the man of erudition; never to be listened to, and to be listened to always.