Without life there can be no action — no objects of pursuit — no restless desires — no tormenting passions. Hence it is that we fondly cling to it — that we dread its termination as the close, not of enjoyment, but of hope.

We can bear to be deprived of everything but our self-conceit.

Prejudice is never easy unless it can pass itself off for reason.

Natural affection is a prejudice; for though we have cause to love our nearest connections better than others, we have no reason to think them better than others.

We all wear some disguise, make some professions, use some artifice, to set ourselves off as being better than we are; and yet it is not denied that we have some good intentions and praiseworthy qualities at bottom.

Conceit is vanity driven from all other shifts, and forced to appeal to itself for admiration.

Silence is one great art of conversation.