Whatever Ignominy Or Disgrace We Have Incurred,

One Can No More Look Steadily At Death Than At The Sun.

We Are Not Fond Of Praising, And Never Praise Any One Except From Interested Motives. Praise Is A Clever, Concealed, And Delicate Flattery, Which Gratifies In Different Ways The Giver And The Receiver. The One Takes It As A Recompense Of His Merit, And The Other Bestows It To Display His Equity And Discernment.

When Our Hatred Is Violent, It Sinks Us Even Beneath Those We Hate.

We Only Acknowledge Small Faults In Order To Make It Appear That We Are Free From Great Ones.

A Man's Wits Are Better Employed In Bearing Up Under The Misfortunes That Lie Upon Him At Present Than In Foreseeing Those That May Come Upon Him Hereafter.