Author of quotes: Jean de La Bruyere. Page 4

In art there is a limit of perfection, as in nature - the limit of blagoustroeno and maturity. The one who feels and loves it - excellent taste; the one who feels it and loves it all worthwhile above or below, taste spoiled; therefore, the tastes are good and bad, and people are right when arguing about them.

If from other writings about morality to exclude introduction, dedicatory Epistle, Preface, table of contents and honorable mentions, will remain so few pages that it was unlikely they could make a book.

Harder to make a name for herself superior writing than to praise mediocre writing if the name has already been created.

Let everyone tries to think and speak intelligently, but give up trying to convince others of the infallibility of their tastes and feelings: the Netherlands.

All have been mentioned, and we were born too late, for already more than seven thousand years on earth living and thinking people. The harvest of the wise and fine observations on human customs cleared, and we can only glean left by ancient philosophers and the wisest of our contemporaries.

Whether even very gifted and endowed with extraordinary virtues of the people not to lose the consciousness of your nothingness, at the thought that he will die, and no one in the world will not notice his disappearance immediately and others will take his place?

The merit of some is that they write well. The other merit is that they do not write at all.

Come to the conclusion that other people are not able to think clearly and to reject all that they say, said and will say, is to get rid of the many useless disputes.

One who strives for others, always full of confidence, like a man who's seeking justice; or begging to get something for himself, he's embarrassed and ashamed, like a man who begs for mercy.

Life is short, if we assume that the names life it deserves only when it gives us joy; bringing together all the well spent hours, we will have for years to just several months.

In any very small, very small, very inconspicuous our act already affects all of our character: a fool and comes out and sits down, gets up, and silent, and moves differently than a smart man.

The more our neighbors like us, the more we like them; to respect someone is, apparently, the same as to equate it to itself.

Hatred is such a long and deep-rooted feeling that the surest sign of imminent death of the patient is reconciliation with his enemy.

The less a person speaks, the more he wins: people are starting to think that it is not devoid of mind, and if, moreover, he is really stupid, all believe that he is very smart.