I am proud up to the point of equality; everything above or below that appears to me arrant impertinence or abject meanness.

Poetry is all that is worth remembering in life.

A lively blockhead in company is a public benefit. Silence or dulness by the side of folly looks like wisdom.

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

Literature, like nobility, runs in the blood.

Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust. Hatred alone is immortal.

Like a rustic at a fair, we are full of amazement and rapture, and have no thought of going home, or that it will soon be night.