We Have Not Enough Strength To Follow

The Fondness Or Indifference That The Philosophers Expressed For Life Was Merely A Preference Inspired By Their Self-love, And Will No More Bear Reasoning Upon Than The Relish Of The Palate Or The Choice Of Colors.

Indolence, Languid As It Is, Often Masters Both Passions And Virtues.

Death, Like The Sun, Cannot Be Looked At Steadily.

We Are Much Harder On People Who Betray Us In Small Ways Than On People Who Betray Others In Great Ones.

It Is Necessary, In Order To Know Things Well, To Know The Particulars Of Them; And These, Being Infinite, Make Our Knowledge Eversuperficial And Imperfect.