We Seek Our Happiness Outside Ourselves, And

The News-writer Lies Down At Night In Great Tranquillity, Upon A Piece Of News Which Corrupts Before Morning, And Which He Is Obliged To Throw Away As Soon As He Awakes.

Love Receives Its Death-wound From Aversion, And Forgetfulness Buries It.

Physiognomy Is Not A Guide That Has Been Given Us By Which To Judge Of The Character Of Men: It May Only Serve Us For Conjecture. [fr., La Physionomie N'est Pas Une Regle Qui Nous Soit Donnee Pour Juger Des Hommes; Elle Nous Peut Servir De Conjecture.]

The Wise Person Often Shuns Society For Fear Of Being Bored.

A Modest Man Never Talks Of Himself.