We Feel Good And Ill Only In

Why Is It That Our Memory Is Good Enough To Retain The Least Triviality That Happens To Us, And Yet Not Good Enough To Recollect How Often We Have Told It To The Same Person?

The Sicknesses Of The Soul Have Their Ups And Downs Like Those Of The Body; What We Take To Be A Cure Is Most Often Merely A Respite Or Change Of Disease.

We Get So Much In The Habit Of Wearing Disguises Before Others That We Finally Appear Disguised Before Ourselves.

Self-love Makes Our Friends Appear More Or Less Deserving In Proportion To The Delight We Take In Them, And The Measures By Whichwe Judge Of Their Worth Depend Upon The Manner Of Their Conversing With Us.

We Often Act Treacherously More From Weakness Than From A Fixed Motive.