The Moderation Of Fortunate People Comes From

The More We Love, The Nearer We Are To Hate.

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

There Is A Kind Of Elevation Which Does Not Depend On Fortune; It Is A Certain Air Which Distinguishes Us, And Seems To Destine Us For Great Things; It Is A Price Which We Imperceptibly Set Upon Ourselves.

There Is An Excess Both In Happiness And Misery Above Our Power Of Sensation.

The Judgments Our Enemies Make About Us Come Nearer To The Truth Than Those We Make About Ourselves.