O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.

If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only blessed.

There are times when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth.

A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.

I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.

Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.

Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.