Life Is A Succession Of Afflictions For

To Forgive A Fault In Another Is More Sublime Than To Be Faultless One's Self.

It Is Sad, No Doubt, To Exhaust One's Strength And One's Days In Cleaving The Bosom Of This Jealous Earth, Which Compels Us To Wring From It The Treasures Of Its Fertility, When A Bit Of The Blackest And Coarsest Bread Is, At The End Of The Day's Work, The Sole Recompense And The Sole Profit Attaching To So Arduous A Toil.

Nature Distributes Her Favors Unequally.

... What Is There Over Which The Incomparable Beauty Of Childhood Would Not Triumph?

You May Impose Silence Upon Me, But You Can Not Prevent Me From Thinking.