Idleness Is More An Infirmity Of The

We Think Very Few People Sensible, Except Those Who Are Of Our Opinion.

We Easily Forget Our Faults When No One Knows Them But Ourselves.

It Is A Species Of Coquetry To Make A Parade Of Never Practising It.

All The Passions Are Nothing Else Than Different Degrees Of Heat And Cold Of The Blood.

We Are Never Either So Fortunate Or So Misfortunate As We Imagine.