He Who Leaves The Game Wins It.

Living Is A Sickness To Which Sleep Provides Relief Every Sixteen Hours. It's A Palliative. The Remedy Is Death.

And So I Leave This World, Where The Heart Must Either Break Or Turn To Lead (suicide Note)

[prudence] Replaces [strength] By Saving The Man Who Has The Misfortune Of Not Possessing It From Most Occasions When It's Needed.

We Gild Our Medicines With Sweets; Why Not Clothe Truth And Morals In Peasant Garments As Well?

If It Were Not For The Government, We Should Have Nothing To Laugh At In France.