A man never discloses his own character so clearly as when he describes another's.
A scholar knows no boredom.
Because the heart beats under a covering of hair, of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason, to be of no account?
Each departed friend is a magnet that attracts us to the next world.
Every man regards his own life as the New Year's Eve of time.
For no one does life drag more disagreeably than for those who try to speed it up.
For sleep, riches and health to be truly enjoyed and gratefully appreciated, they must be interrupted so the person can see that not having them is not as good as having them.
Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.
Has it never occurred to us, when surrounded by sorrows, that they may be sent to us only for our instruction, as we darken the eyes of birds when we wish them to sing?
It is not the end of joy that makes old age so sad, but the end of hope.
It is simpler and easier to flatter people than to praise them.
Memory is the only paradise out of which we cannot be driven away.
Music is the moonlight in the gloomy night of life.
Nothing is more beautiful than cheerfulness in an old face.
Paradise is always where love dwells.
People will not bear it when advice is violently given, even if it is well founded. Hearts are flowers; they remain open to the softly falling dew, but shut up in the violent downpour of rain.
Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
The grandest of heroic deeds are those which are performed within four walls and in domestic privacy.
The past and future are veiled; but the past wears the widow's veil; the future, the virgin's.
There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind them when they go.
There is a joy in sorrow which none but a mourner can know.
We learn our virtues from our friends who love us; our faults from the enemy who hates us. We cannot easily discover our real character from a friend. He is a mirror, on which the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness of the reflection.
What has puzzled us before seems less mysterious, and the crooked paths look straighter as we approach the end.
With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?
You prove your worth with your actions, not with your mouth.
Found 25 occurence(s) in 51,798 quotation(s).