The Only Thing Constant In Life Is

We Own Up To Minor Failings, But Only So As To Convince Others That We Have No Major Ones.

There Is A Sort Of Love Whose Very Excessiveness Prevents The Lover's Being Jealous.

The Vices Enter Into The Composition Of The Virtues, As Poisons Into That Of Medicines. Prudence Collects And Arranges Them, And Uses Them Beneficially Against The Ills Of Life.

We Frequently Do Good In Order To Enable Us To Do Evil Later With Impunity Exemption Of Punishment.

When Our Vices Leave Us, We Like To Imagine It Is We Who Are Leaving Them.