he has written he has seen with his own eyes.
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Death is only asleep without dreams
Excessive desire to oblige
Rubbings with eau de Cologne, his favorite remedy There are saber strokes enough for every one His Majesty did not converse: he spoke
Little gifts preserve friendship
She feared to be distracted from her grief Act with our allies as if they were afterwards to be our enemies As was his habit, criticised more than he praised The friendship of a great man is a gift from the gods You have given me your long price, now give me your short one Fear of being suspected of cowardice was beneath them Like all great amateurs was hard to please Self-appointed connoisseurs
Trying to alleviate her sorrow by sharing it You were made to give lessons, not to take them Age in which one breathes well only after resting All orders given by his Majesty were short, precise Living ever in the future
Necessity is ever ready with inventions Power of thus isolating one’s self completely from all the world A sad sort of consolation that is drawn from reprisals Borrowing, which uses up the resources of the future For a retreating enemy it is necessary to make a bridge of gold Make a bridge of gold, or oppose a wall of brass Paper money, which is the greatest enemy of social order Rise and decline of stocks was with him the real thermometer The more I concede the more they demand
Most charming mistresses and the worst wives No man is, a hero to his valet
The pear was ripe; but who was to gather it?