THE fool who is full of vanity is the born enemy of talent. If he enters a house where a clever man is being entertained, and if the mistress does him the honor of presenting him, he bows indifferently and answers nothing. If one ventures to praise merit other than what consists in wealth before him, he sits down at a table, fingers the counters or shuffles the card, without saying anything. If a book is shown which has made some stir in the world, Midas first glances at the end, then into the middle, declares that it is ill constructed and that he could never bring himself to read it through. You speak in his presence of a victory which Frederick the Great, the hero of the North, has gained over his enemies, and when you recount the prodigies of his skill and valor, Midas assures the company positively that the disposition of the battle was made by M. de Rottembourg, who was not there, and that the king hid in a hut until the enemy was routed. A man who was present at the battle declares that he saw the king charge at the head of his troops, but Midas coldly answers that one can expect nothing good of a prince, nor will he ever see anything but follies proceed from one who writes verses and is a friend of Voltaire.
A MAN of the world is not one who knows other men best, who has the most of foresight or skill in practical affairs, who is best instructed by experience or study. He is neither a good economist, nor a scholar, nor a politician, nor an enlightened official, nor a laborious magistrate. He is a man who knows noting, and who is ignorant of nothing; who, a bungler in his own trade, whatever it be, believes himself expert in the trades of others; a man who has much useless wit, who can speak flatteries which do not flatter, say sensible things which do not instruct; who can persuade no one, well though he speak; gifted with that kind of eloquence which can create trifles or recall them to life, and reduce great subjects to nothing; of penetrating insight as to the external ridiculousness of men, but blind as to their souls; a man rich in words, who, powerless to impress by good sense, struggles to strike by singularity; who, fearful of wearying by logic, wearies by his inconsequence and digressions; who is lively without gaiety, and intense without passion; who needs a continual change of the places and the things that interest him, and yet is powerless to supply, by the variety of his amusements, the failings of his inner man. If several persons of this character happen to meet, and cannot arrange a game of cards, these men, who have so much brain, have not enough for half an hour’s conversation, even with women, without tiring each other. All their tricks, their jests, their news, their reflections, are exhausted in a moment. He who is not playing at quadrille or ombre, must watch those who are, in order that he may not come face to face with one 228 to whom he has nothing to say. All these good people who have banished sense from their conversation are living examples of its necessity.
WHEN a thought is too feeble to bear simple expression, it is better left unuttered.
There are few constant passions, though many sincere ones. Formerly men affected a false constancy, to-day they affect a false indifference. ’Tis all according to the fashion.
If you feel that it is some fault in yourself that prevents you from gaining the esteem of a certain person, then you are sure to hate him.
Certain fools, sitting together at table said, “We alone are good company.” And they believed each other.
We are less hurt by the contempt of fools than by the coldness of wise men.
Why believe that poverty improves a man’s morals?
A great man undertakes a great thing because it is great; a fool because he considers it easy.
Rogues are always surprised at honesty in others.