Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Though nature be ever so generous, yet can she not make a hero alone. Fortune must contribute her part too and till both concur, the work cannot be perfected.

A work can become modern only if it is first postmodern. Postmodernism thus understood is not modernism at its end but in the nascent state, and this state is constant.

Women's virtue is frequently nothing but a regard to their own quiet and a tenderness for their reputation.

The generality of virtuous women are like hidden treasures, they are safe only because nobody has sought after them.

You can find women who have never had an affair, but it is hard to find a woman who has had just one.

There are few virtuous women who are not bored with their trade.

One can find women who have never had one love affair, but it is rare indeed to find any who have had only one.

However glorious an action in itself, it ought not to pass for great if it be not the effect of wisdom and intention.

We give advice, but we cannot give the wisdom to profit by it.

Few people have the wisdom to prefer the criticism that would do them good, to the praise that deceives them.

It is great folly to wish to be wise all alone.

Though men are apt to flatter and exalt themselves with their great achievements, yet these are, in truth, very often owing not so much to design as chance.

Some counterfeits reproduce so very well the truth that it would be a flaw of judgment not to be deceived by them.

However greatly we distrust the sincerity of those we converse with, yet still we think they tell more truth to us than to anyone else.

We are so used to dissembling with others that in time we come to deceive and dissemble with ourselves.

When we disclaim praise, it is only showing our desire to be praised a second time.

We all have enough strength to endure the misfortunes of others.

If we resist our passions, it is more due to their weakness than our strength.

There are a great many men valued in society who have nothing to recommend them but serviceable vices.

Our aversion to lying is commonly a secret ambition to make what we say considerable, and have every word received with a religious respect.

It is not in the power of even the most crafty dissimulation to conceal love long, where it really is, nor to counterfeit it long where it is not.

No man deserves to be praised for his goodness, who has it not in his power to be wicked. Goodness without that power is generally nothing more than sloth, or an impotence of will.

If we have not peace within ourselves, it is in vain to seek it from outward sources.

We have no patience with other people's vanity because it is offensive to our own.

Though nature be ever so generous, yet can she not make a hero alone. Fortune must contribute her part too and till both concur, the work cannot be perfected.