Our nature consists in motion; complete rest is death.
That we must love one God only is a thing so evident that it does not require miracles to prove it.
When we are in love we seem to ourselves quite different from what we were before.
The charm of fame is so great that we like every object to which it is attached, even death.
We sail within a vast sphere, ever drifting in uncertainty, driven from end to end.
Nothing is as approved as mediocrity, the majority has established it and it fixes it fangs on whatever gets beyond it either way.
I have made this letter longer than usual, only because I have not had the time to make it shorter.
Since we cannot know all that there is to be known about anything, we ought to know a little about everything.
There are only two kinds of men: the righteous who think they are sinners and the sinners who think they are righteous.
Men are so necessarily mad, that not to be mad would amount to another form of madness.