In Growing Old, We Become

What Often Prevents Our Abandoning Ourselves To A Single Vice Is, Our Having More Than One.

Reconciliation With Our Enemies Is Simply A Desire To Better Our Condition, A Weariness Of War, Or The Fear Of Some Unlucky Thing From Occurring.

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

It Is As Commendable To Think Well Of Oneself When Alone, As It Is Ridiculous To Speak Well Of Oneself Among Others.

Most Women Lament Not The Death Of Their Lovers So Much Out Of Real Affection For Them, As Because They Would Appear Worthy Of Love.