I seek in the reading of books, only to please myself, by an honest diversion.

I speak truth, not so much as I would, but as much as I dare; and I dare a little the more, as I grow older.

I walk firmer and more secure up hill than down.

I want death to find me planting my cabbages, but caring little for it, and even less about the imperfections of my garden.

If health and a fair day smile upon me, I am a very good fellow; if a corn trouble my toe, I am sullen, out of humor, and inaccessible.

If I am pressed to say why I loved him, I feel it can only be explained by replying: ‘Because it was he; because it was me.’

If virtue cannot shine bright, but by the conflict of contrary appetites, shall we then say that she cannot subsist without the assistance of vice, and that it is from her that she derives her reputation and honor?

In love, tis no other than frantic desire for that which flies from us.

In plain truth, lying is an accursed vice. We are not men, nor have other tie upon one another, but by our word.

Intemperance is the plague of sensuality, and temperance is not its bane but its seasoning.