We are never so much disposed to quarrel with others as when we are dissatisfied with ourselves.

There is nothing good to be had in the country, or if there is, they will not let you have it.

The Princess Borghese, Bonaparte's sister, who was no saint, sat to Canova as a reclining Venus, and being asked if she did not feel a little uncomfortable, replied, "No. There was a fire in the room."

No truly great person ever thought themselves so.

We are the creatures of imagination, passion, and self-will, more than of reason or even of self-interest. Even in the common transactions and daily intercourse of life, we are governed by whim, caprice, prejudice, or accident. The falling of a teacup puts us out of temper for the day; and a quarrel that commenced about the pattern of a gown may end only with our lives.

The perfect joys of heaven do not satisfy the cravings of nature.

Abuse is an indirect species of homage.