One dies twice: to cease to live is nothing, but to cease to love and to be loved is an insupportable death.

Heaven made virtue; man, the appearance.

A republic is not founded on virtue, but on the ambition of its citizens.

We never live: we are always in expectation of living.

I do not know in the whole history of the world a hero, a worthy man, a prophet, a true Christian, who has not been the victim of the jealous, of a scamp, or of a sinister spirit.

Pleasure has its time; so, too, has wisdom. Make love in thy youth, and in old age, attend to thy salvation.

Laws should be clear, uniform, precise : to interpret them is nearly always to corrupt them.

O unfortunates who sin without pleasure! in your errors be more reasonable ; be, at least, fortunate sinners. Since you must be damned, be damned for amiable faults.

All joys do not cause laughter; great pleasures are serious: pleasures of love do not make us laugh.

Anything serves as a pretext for the wicked.

God created woman only to tame man.

Whoever is suspicious incites treason.

Use, do not abuse : neither abstinence nor excess ever renders man happy.

Alas! how can we always resist? The devil tempts us, and the flesh is weak.

Dress changes the manners.

Virtue: a word easy to pronounce, difficult to understand.

Superstition is to religion what astrology is to astronomy: a very stupid daughter of a very wise mother.

Moderation is the pleasure of the wise.

Satire lies about men of letters during their life, and eulogy after their death.

Love is a canvas furnished by Nature, and embroidered by imagination.

If there were no God, it would be necessary to invent one.

Superstition excites storms; philosophy appeases them.

Love is of all the passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head> the heart, and the senses.

Labor is often the father of pleasure.

It does not depend upon us to avoid poverty, but it does depend upon us to make that poverty respected.

Our country is that spot to which our heart is attached.

Paradise was made for tender hearts; hell, for loveless hearts.

The best written book is a receipt for a pottage.

We can not always oblige, but we can always speak obligingly.

All thinkers have about the same principles, and form but one republic.

Shun idleness: it is the rust that attaches itself to the most brilliant metals.

He advanced toward me without moving his hat, or making the least inclination of his body; but there appeared more real politeness in the open, humane air of his countenance, than in drawing one leg behind the other, and carrying that in the hand which is made to be worn on the head. "Friend," said he, "I perceive thou art a stranger, if I can do thee any service thou hast only to let me know it." "Sir," I replied, bowing my body, and sliding one leg toward him, as is the custom with us, "I flatter myself that my curiosity, which you will allow to be just, will not give you any offence, and that you will do me the honor to inform me of the particulars of your religion." "The people of thy country," answered the Quaker, "are too full of their bows and their compliments; but I never yet met with one of them who had so much curiosity as thyself. Come in and let us dine first together."

Being of opinion that the doctrine and history of so extraordinary a sect as the Quakers were very well deserving the curiosity of every thinking man, I resolved to make myself acquainted with them, and for that purpose made a visit to one of the most eminent of that sect in England, who, after having been in trade for thirty years, had the wisdom to prescribe limits to his fortune, and to his desires, and withdrew to a small but pleasant retirement in the country, not many miles from London. Here it was that I made him my visit. His house was small, but neatly built, and with no other ornaments but those of decency and convenience.

Religion may be purified. This great work was begun two hundred years ago: but men can only bear light to come in upon them by degrees.

"A false science makes atheists, a true science prostrates men before the Deity"

Let us cultivate our garden.

Fools admire everything in an author of reputation.

Fools have a habit of believing that everything written by a famous author is admirable. For my part I read only to please myself and like only what suits my taste.

In every province, the chief occupations, in order of importance, are lovemaking, malicious gossip, and talking nonsense.

Our labour preserves us from three great evils -- weariness, vice, and want.

Even in those cities which seem to enjoy the blessings of peace, and where the arts florish, the inhabitants are devoured by envy, cares and anxieties, which are greater plagues than any experienced in a town when it is under siege.

If this is the best of possible worlds, what then are the others?

I have received, sir, your new book against the human species, and I thank you for it. You will please people by your manner of telling them the truth about themselves, but you will not alter them. The horrors of that human society—from which in our feebleness and ignorance we expect so many consolations—have never been painted in more striking colours: no one has ever been so witty as you are in trying to turn us into brutes: to read your book makes one long to go on all fours. Since, however, it is now some sixty years since I gave up the practice, I feel that it is unfortunately impossible for me to resume it: I leave this natural habit to those more fit for it than are you and I.

The king [Frederic] has sent me some of his dirty linen to wash; I will wash yours another time.

I opened with that which good Catholics have more than once made to Huguenots. "My dear sir," said I, "were you ever baptized?" "No, friend," replied the Quaker, "nor any of my brethren." "Zounds!" said I to him, "you are not Christians then!" "Friend," replied the old man, in a soft tone of voice, "do not swear; we are Christians, but we do not think that sprinkling a few drops of water on a child's head makes him a Christian." "My God!" exclaimed I, shocked at his impiety, "have you then forgotten that Christ was baptized by St. John?" "Friend," replied the mild Quaker, "once again, do not swear. Christ was baptized by John, but He Himself never baptized any one; now we profess ourselves disciples of Christ, and not of John." "Mercy on us," cried I, "what a fine subject you would be for the holy inquisitor! In the name of God, my good old man, let me baptize you."

I asked my guide how it was possible the judicious part of them could suffer such incoherent prating? "We are obliged," said he, "to suffer it, because no one knows, when a brother rises up to hold forth, whether he will be moved by the spirit or by folly. In this uncertainty, we listen patiently to every one. We even allow our women to speak in public; two or three of them are often inspired at the same time, and then a most charming noise is heard in the Lord's house." "You have no priests, then?" said I. "No, no, friend," replied the Quaker; "heaven make us thankful!" Then opening one of the books of their sect, he read the following words in an emphatic tone: "'God forbid we should presume to ordain any one to receive the Holy Spirit on the Lord's day, in exclusion to the rest of the faithful!' These are the main particulars that I have been able to gather, concerning the doctrine of the Quakers. In the ensuing pages you will find some account of their history, which is still more singular than their opinions. -->

Prejudice is the reason of fools.

O Truth! pure and sacred virgin, when wilt thou be worthily revered? O Goddess who instructs us, why didst thou put thy palace in a well? When will our learned writers, alike free from bitterness and from flattery, faithfully teach us life?

It is very strange that men should deny a creator and yet attribute to themselves the power of creating eels.

What a pity and what a poverty of spirit, to assert that beasts are machines deprived of knowledge and sentiment, which affect all their operations in the same manner, which learn nothing, never improve, &c. [...] Some barbarians seize this dog, who so prodigiously excels man in friendship, they nail him to a table, and dissect him living, to show the mezarian veins. You discover in him all the same organs of sentiment which are in yourself. Answer me, machinist, has nature arranged all the springs of sentiment in this animal that he should not feel? Has he nerves to be incapable of suffering? Do not suppose this impertinent contradiction in nature. [...] The animal has received those of sentiment, memory, and a certain number of ideas. Who has bestowed these gifts, who has given these faculties? He who has made the herb of the field to grow, and who makes the earth gravitate towards the sun.