Remorse Turns Us Against Ourselves.

Wicked People Sometimes Perform Good Actions. I Suppose They Wish To See If This Gives As Great A Feeling Of Pleasure As The Virtuous Claim For It.

Whoever Is Not A Misanthrope At Forty Can Never Have Loved Mankind.

Real Worth Requires No Interpreter: Its Everyday Deeds Form Its Emblem.

Living Is A Sickness To Which Sleep Provides Relief Every Sixteen Hours. It's A Palliative. The Remedy Is Death.

He Who Leaves The Game Wins It.