We Endeavor To Make A Virtue Of

There Are Crimes Which Become Innocent And Even Glorious Through Their Splendor, Number And Excess.

We Are So Accustomed To Disguise Ourselves To Others That In The End We Become Disguised To Ourselves.

There Is A Sort Of Love Whose Very Excessiveness Prevents The Lover's Being Jealous.

Men's Happiness And Misery Depends Altogether As Much Upon Their Own Humor As It Does Upon Fortune.

There Is A Kind Of Love, The Excess Of Which Forbids Jealousy.