Hope, deceiving as it is, serves at least to lead us to the end of our lives by an agreeable route.

Flattery is a kind of bad money, to which our vanity gives us currency.

It is with an old love as it is with old age a man lives to all the miseries, but is dead to all the pleasures.

Our lives are full of all the genres. Fear and hope and sadness.

It is often laziness and timidity that keep us within our duty while virtue gets all the credit.

There is a time of reckoning in all our lives.