Whatever Ignominy Or Disgrace We Have Incurred,

If We Judge Love By Most Of Its Effects, It Resembles Rather Hatred Than Affection.

When Our Vices Desert Us, We Flatter Ourselves That We Are Deserting Our Vices.

A Small Degree Of Wit, Accompanied By Good Sense, Is Less Tiresome In The Long Run Than A Great Amount Of Wit Without It.

There Is Only One Kind Of Love, But There Are A Thousand Imitations.

The Reason We Do Not Let Our Friends See The Very Bottom Of Our Hearts Is Not So Much Distrust Of Them As Distrust Of Ourselves.