We Sometimes Imagine We Hate Flattery, But

Kings Do With Men As With Pieces Of Money; They Give Them What Value They Please, And We Are Obliged To Receive Them At Their Current And Not At Their Real Value.

There Is Real Love Just As There Are Real Ghosts; Every Person Speaks Of It, Few Persons Have Seen It.

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.

The Love Of New Acquaintance Comes Not So Much From Being Weary Of What We Had Before, Or From Any Satisfaction There Is In Change, As From The Distaste We Feel In Being Too Little Admired By Those That Know Us Too Well, And The Hope Of Being More Admired By Those That Know Us Less.

Why Can We Remember The Tiniest Detail That Has Happened To Us, And Not Remember How Many Times We Have Told It To The Same Person.