Reflections; Or Sentences and Moral Maxims

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XLVI.--It is very hard to separate the general
goodness spread all over the world from great clever-
ness. (1665, No. 252.)

XLVII.--For us to be always good, others should
believe that they cannot behave wickedly to us with
impunity. (1665, No. 254.)

XLVIII.--A confidence in being able to please is
often an infallible means of being displeasing. (1665,
No. 256.)

XLIX.--The confidence we have in ourselves arises
in a great measure from that that we have in others.
(1665, No. 258.)

L.--There is a general revolution which changes
the tastes of the mind as well as the fortunes of the
world. (1665, No. 250.)

LI.--Truth is foundation and the reason of the per-
fection of beauty, for of whatever stature a thing may
be, it cannot be beautiful and perfect unless it be
truly that she should be, and possess truly all that she
should have (1665, No. 260.)

[Beauty is truth, truth beauty.{--John Keats, “Ode on a
a Grecian Urn,” (1820), Stanza 5}]

LII.--There are fine things which are more bril-
liant when unfinished than when finished too much.
(1665, No. 262.)

LIII.--Magnanimity is a noble effort of pride which
makes a man master of himself, to make him master
of all things. (1665, No. 271.)

LIV.--Luxury and too refined a policy in states are
a sure presage of their fall, because all parties looking
after their own interest turn away from the public
good. (1665, No. 282.)

LV.--Of all passions that which is least known to
us is idleness; she is the most ardent and evil of all,
although her violence may be insensible, and the evils
she causes concealed; if we consider her power
attentively we shall find that in all encounters she
makes herself mistress of our sentiments, our in-
terests, and our pleasures; like the (fabled) Remora,
she can stop the greatest vessels, she is a hidden rock,
more dangerous in the most important matters than
sudden squalls and the most violent tempests. The
repose of idleness is a magic charm which suddenly
suspends the most ardent pursuits and the most
obstinate resolutions. In fact to give a true notion of
this passion we must add that idleness, like a beati-
tude of the soul, consoles us for all losses and fills the
vacancy of all our wants. (1665, No. 290.)

LVI.--We are very fond of reading others' characters,
but we do not like to be read ourselves. (1665, No. 296.)

LVII.--What a tiresome malady is that which forces
one to preserve your health by a severe regimen.
(IBID, No. 298.)

LVIII.--It is much easier to take love when one is
free, than to get rid of it after having taken it. (1665,
No. 300.)

LIX.--Women for the most part surrender them-
selves more from weakness than from passion. Whence
it is that bold and pushing men succeed better than
others, although they are not so loveable. (1665, No.
301.)

LX.--Not to love is in love, an infallible means of
being beloved. (1665, No. 302.)

LXI.--The sincerity which lovers and mistresses ask
that both should know when they cease to love each
other, arises much less from a wish to be warned of
the cessation of love, than from a desire to be assured
that they are beloved although no one denies it.
(1665, No. 303.)

LXII.--The most just comparison of love is that of
a fever, and we have no power over either, as to its
violence or its duration. (1665, No. 305.)

LXIII.--The greatest skill of the least skilful is to
know how to submit to the direction of another.
(1665, No. 309.)

LXIV.--We always fear to see those whom we love
when we have been flirting with others. (16{74}, No.
372.)

LXV.--We ought to console ourselves for our faults
when we have strength enough to own them. (16{74},
No. 375.)

{The date of the previous two maxims is incorrectly cited
as 1665 in the text. I found this date immediately suspect
because the translators' introduction states that the 1665
edition only had 316 maxims. In fact, the two maxims only
appeared in the fourth of the first five editions (1674).}

SECOND SUPPLEMENT.

REFLECTIONS,
EXTRACTED FROM
MS. LETTERS IN THE ROYAL LIBRARY.*

*(June 1871) to assign a name to the magnificent collection
of books in Paris, the property of the nation.>

LXVI.--Interest is the soul of self-love, in as much
as when the body deprived of its soul is without sight,
feeling or knowledge, without thought or movement,
so self-love, riven so to speak from its interest, neither
sees, nor hears, nor smells, nor moves; thus it is that
the same man who will run over land and sea for his
own interest becomes suddenly paralyzed when en-
gaged for that of others; from this arises that sudden
dulness and, as it were, death, with which we afflict
those to whom we speak of our own matters; from this
also their sudden resurrection when in our narrative
we relate something concerning them; from this we
find in our conversations and business that a man
becomes dull or bright just as his own interest is near
to him or distant from him. (LETTER TO MADAME DE
SABLÉ, MS., FOL. 211.)

LXVII.--Why we cry out so much against maxims
which lay bare the heart of man, is because we fear
that our own heart shall be laid bare. (MAXIM 103,
MS., fol. 310.*)

*Maxims previously given, sometimes the author has care-
fully polished them; at other times the words are identical.
Our numbers will indicate where they are to be found in
the foregoing collection.>

LXVIII.--Hope and fear are inseparable. (TO
MADAME DE SABLÉ, MS., FOL. 222, MAX. 168.)

LXIX.--It is a common thing to hazard life to escape
dishonour; but, when this is done, the actor takes
very little pain to make the enterprise succeed in
which he is engaged, and certain it is that they who
hazard their lives to take a city or to conquer a pro-
vince are better officers, have more merit, and wider
and more useful, views than they who merely expose
themselves to vindicate their honour; it is very com-
mon to find people of the latter class, very rare to
find those of the former. (LETTER TO M. ESPRIT, MS.,
FOL. 173, MAX. 219.)

LXX.--The taste changes, but the will remains the
same. (TO MADAME DE SABLÉ, FOL. 223, MAX. 252.)

LXXI.--The power which women whom we love
have over us is greater than that which we have over
ourselves. (TO THE SAME, MS., FOL. 211, MAX. 259)

LXXII.--That which makes us believe so easily that
others have defects is that we all so easily believe
what we wish. (TO THE SAME, MS., FOL. 223, MAX. 397.)

LXXIII.--I am perfectly aware that good sense and
fine wit are tedious to every age, but tastes are not
always the same, and what is good at one time will
not seem so at another. This makes me think that
few persons know how to be old. (TO THE SAME,
FOL. 202, MAX. 423.)

LXXIV.--God has permitted, to punish man for his
original sin, that he should be so fond of his self-love,
that he should be tormented by it in all the actions
of his life. (MS., FOL. 310, MAX. 494.)

LXXV.--And so far it seems to me the philosophy
of a lacquey can go; I believe that all gaity in that state
of life is very doubtful indeed. (TO MADAME DE SABLÉ,
FOL. 161, MAX. 504.)

[In the maxim cited the author relates how a footman
about to be broken on the wheel danced on the scaffold.
He seems to think that in his day the life of such servants
was so miserable that their merriment was very doubtful.]

THIRD SUPPLEMENT

[The fifty following Maxims are taken from the Sixth
Edition of the PENSÉES DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, published
by Claude Barbin, in 1693, more than twelve years after
the death of the author (17th May, 1680). The reader
will find some repetitions, but also some very valuable
maxims.]

LXXVI.--Many persons wish to be devout; but
no one wishes to be humble.

LXXVII.--The labour of the body frees us from
the pains of the mind, and thus makes the poor happy.

LXXVIII.--True penitential sorrows (mortifica-
tions) are those which are not known, vanity renders
the others easy enough.

LXXIX.--Humility is the altar upon which God
wishes that we should offer him his sacrifices.

LXXX.--Few things are needed to make a wise man
happy; nothing can make a fool content; that is why
most men are miserable.

LXXXI.--We trouble ourselves less to become
happy, than to make others believe we are so.

LXXXII.--It is more easy to extinguish the first
desire than to satisfy those which follow.

LXXXIII.--Wisdom is to the soul what health is to
the body.

LXXXIV.--The great ones of the earth can neither
command health of body nor repose of mind, and
they buy always at too dear a price the good they can
acquire.

LXXXV.--Before strongly desiring anything we
should examine what happiness he has who possesses it.

LXXXVI.--A true friend is the greatest of all
goods, and that of which we think least of acquiring.

LXXXVII.--Lovers do not wish to see the faults of
their mistresses until their enchantment is at an end.

LXXXVIII.--Prudence and love are not made for
each other; in the ratio that love increases, prudence
diminishes.

LXXXIX.--It is sometimes pleasing to a husband
to have a jealous wife; he hears her always speaking
of the beloved object.

XC.--How much is a woman to be pitied who is at
the same time possessed of virtue and love!

XCI.--The wise man finds it better not to enter
the encounter than to conquer.

[Somewhat similar to Goldsmith's sage--
“Who quits {a} world where strong temptations try,
And since 'tis hard to co{mbat}, learns to fly.”]

XCII.--It is more necessary to study men than
books.

[“The proper study of mankind is man.”--Pope
{ESSAY ON MAN, (1733), EPISTLE II, line 2}.]

XCIII.--Good and evil ordinarily come to those who
have most of one or the other.

XCIV.--The accent and character of one's native
country dwells in the mind and heart as on the tongue.
(REPITITION OF MAXIM 342.)

XCV.--The greater part of men have qualities
which, like those of plants, are discovered by chance.
(REPITITION OF MAXIM 344.)

XCVI.--A good woman is a hidden treasure; he
who discovers her will do well not to boast about it.
(SEE MAXIM 368.)

XCVII.--Most women do not weep for the loss
of a lover to show that they have been loved so much
as to show that they are worth being loved. (SEE
MAXIM 362.)

XCVIII.--There are many virtuous women who
are weary of the part they have played. (SEE MAXIM
367.)

XCIX.--If we think we love for love's sake we
are much mistaken. (SEE MAXIM 374.)

C.--The restraint we lay upon ourselves to be con-
stant, is not much better than an inconstancy. (SEE
MAXIMS 369, 381.)

CI.--There are those who avoid our jealousy, of
whom we ought to be jealous. (SEE MAXIM 359.)

CII.--Jealousy is always born with love, but does
not always die with it. (SEE MAXIM 361.)

CIII.--When we love too much it is difficult to
discover when we have ceased to be beloved.

CIV.--We know very well that we should not talk
about our wives, but we do not remember that it is
not so well to speak of ourselves. (SEE MAXIM 364.)

CV.--Chance makes us known to others and to our-
selves. (SEE MAXIM 345.)

CVI.--We find very few people of good sense, ex-
cept those who are of our own opinion. (SEE MAXIM
347.)

CVII.--We commonly praise the good hearts of
those who admire us. (SEE MAXIM 356.)

CVIII.--Man only blames himself in order that he
may be praised.

CIX.--Little minds are wounded by the smallest
things. (SEE MAXIM 357.)

CX.--There are certain faults which placed in a good
light please more than perfection itself. (SEE MAXIM
354.)

CXI.--That which makes us so bitter against those
who do us a shrewd turn, is because they think them-
selves more clever than we are. (SEE MAXIM 350.)

CXII.--We are always bored by those whom we
bore. (SEE MAXIM 352.)

CXIII.--The harm that others do us is often less
than that we do ourselves. (SEE MAXIM 363.)

CXIV.--It is never more difficult to speak well
than when we are ashamed of being silent.

CXV.--Those faults are always pardonable that we
have the courage to avow.

CXVI.--The greatest fault of penetration is not
that it goes to the bottom of a matter--but beyond it.
(SEE MAXIM 377.)

CXVII.--We give advice, but we cannot give the
wisdom to profit by it. (SEE MAXIM 378.)

CXVIII.--When our merit declines, our taste de-
clines also. (SEE MAXIM 379.)

CXIX.--Fortune discovers our vices and our vir-
tues, as the light makes objects plain to the sight.
(SEE MAXIM 380.)

CXX.--Our actions are like rhymed verse-ends
(BOUTS-RIMÉS) which everyone turns as he pleases. (SEE
MAXIM 382.)

CXXI.--There is nothing more natural, nor more
deceptive, than to believe that we are beloved.

CXXII.--We would rather see those to whom we
have done a benefit, than those who have done us one.

CXXIII.--It is more difficult to hide the opinions
we have than to feign those which we have not.

CXXIV.--Renewed friendships require more care
than those that have never been broken.

CXXV.--A man to whom no one is pleasing is
much more unhappy than one who pleases nobody.

REFLECTIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS,
BY THE
DUKE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD

I. On Confidence.

Though sincerity and confidence have many
points of resemblance, they have yet many
points of difference.

Sincerity is an openness of heart, which
shows us what we are, a love of truth, a dis-
like to deception, a wish to compensate our faults and
to lessen them by the merit of confessing them.

Confidence leaves us less liberty, its rules are
stricter, it requires more prudence and reticence, and
we are not always free to give it. It relates not only
to ourselves, since our interests are often mixed up
with those of others; it requires great delicacy not to
expose our friends in exposing ourselves, not to draw
upon their goodness to enhance the value of what we
give.

Confidence always pleases those who receive it. It
is a tribute we pay to their merit, a deposit we commit
to their trust, a pledge which gives them a claim upon
us, a kind of dependence to which we voluntarily
submit. I do not wish from what I have said to
depreciate confidence, so necessary to man. It is
in society the link between acquaintance and
friendship. I only wish to state its limits to make
it true and real. I would that it was always sincere,
always discreet, and that it had neither weakness nor
interest. I know it is hard to place proper limits on
being taken into all our friends' confidence, and taking
them into all ours.

Most frequently we make confidants from vanity, a
love of talking, a wish to win the confidence of others,
and make an exchange of secrets.

Some may have a motive for confiding in us, towards
whom we have no motive for confiding. With them we
discharge the obligation in keeping their secrets and
trusting them with small confidences.

Others whose fidelity we know trust nothing to
us, but we confide in them by choice and inclina-
tion.

We should hide from them nothing that concerns
us, we should always show them with equal truth, our
virtues and our vices, without exaggerating the one
or diminishing the other. We should make it a rule
never to have half confidences. They always embarrass
those who give them, and dissatisfy those who receive
them. They shed an uncertain light on what we want
hidden, increase curiosity, entitling the recipients to
know more, giving them leave to consider themselves
free to talk of what they have guessed. It is far
safer and more honest to tell nothing than to be
silent when we have begun to tell. There are other
rules to be observed in matters confided to us, all are
important, to all prudence and trust are essential.

Everyone agrees that a secret should be kept intact,
but everyone does not agree as to the nature and
importance of secresy. Too often we consult our-
selves as to what we should say, what we should leave
unsaid. There are few permanent secrets, and the
scruple against revealing them will not last for ever.

With those friends whose truth we know we have
the closest intimacy. They have always spoken unre-
servedly to us, we should always do the same to them.
They know our habits and connexions, and see too
clearly not to perceive the slightest change. They
may have elsewhere learnt what we have promised not
to tell. It is not in our power to tell them what has
been entrusted to us, though it might tend to their
interest to know it. We feel as confident of them
as of ourselves, and we are reduced to the hard fate of
losing their friendship, which is dear to us, or of being
faithless as regards a secret. This is doubtless the
hardest test of fidelity, but it should not move an
honest man; it is then that he can sacrifice himself
to others. His first duty is to rigidly keep his trust
in its entirety. He should not only control and
guard his and his voice, but even his lighter
talk, so that nothing be seen in his conversation or
manner that could direct the curiosity of others towards
that which he wishes to conceal.

We have often need of strength and prudence
wherewith to oppose the exigencies of most of our
friends who make a claim on our confidence, and
seek to know all about us. We should never allow
them to acquire this unexceptionable right. There
are accidents and circumstances which do not fall in
their cognizance; if they complain, we should endure
their complaints and excuse ourselves with gentleness,
but if they are still unreasonable, we should sacrifice
their friendship to our duty, and choose between two
inevitable evils, the one reparable, the other irre-
parable.

II. On Difference of Character.

Although all the qualities of mind may be united in
a great genius, yet there are some which are special
and peculiar to him; his views are unlimited; he
always acts uniformly and with the same activity;
he sees distant objects as if present; he compre-
hends and grasps the greatest, sees and notices the
smallest matters; his thoughts are elevated, broad,
just and intelligible. Nothing escapes his observation,
and he often finds truth in spite of the obscurity that
hides her from others.

A lofty mind always thinks nobly, it easily creates
vivid, agreeable, and natural fancies, places them in
their best light, clothes them with all appropriate
adornments, studies others' tastes, and clears away
from its own thoughts all that is useless and dis-
agreeable.

A clever, pliant, winning mind knows how to avoid
and overcome difficulties. Bending easily to what it
wants, it understands the inclination and temper it is
dealing with, and by managing their interests it
advances and establishes its own.

A well regulated mind sees all things as they should
be seen, appraises them at their proper value, turns
them to its own advantage, and adheres firmly to its
own opinions as it knows all their force and weight.

A difference exists between a working mind and a
business-like mind. We can undertake business with-
out turning it to our own interest. Some are clever
only in what does not concern them, and the reverse
in all that does. There are others again whose
cleverness is limited to their own business, and who
know how to turn everything to their own advantage.

It is possible to have a serious turn of mind, and
yet to talk pleasantly and cheerfully. This class of
mind is suited to all persons in all times of life.
Young persons have usually a cheerful and satirical
turn, untempered by seriousness, thus often making
themselves disagreeable.

No part is easier to play than that of being always
pleasant; and the applause we sometimes receive in
censuring others is not worth being exposed to the
chance of offending them when they are out of
temper.

Satire is at once the most agreeable and most dan-
gerous of mental qualities. It always pleases when it
is refined, but we always fear those who use it too
much, yet satire should be allowed when unmixed
with spite, and when the person satirised can join in
the satire.

It is unfortunate to have a satirical turn without
affecting to be pleased or without loving to jest. It
requires much adroitness to continue satirical with-
out falling into one of these extremes.

Raillery is a kind of mirth which takes possession
of the imagination, and shows every object in an
absurd light; wit combines more or less softness or
harshness.

There is a kind of refined and flattering raillery that
only hits the faults that persons admit, which under-
stands how to hide the praise it gives under the ap-
pearance of blame, and shows the good while feigning
a wish to hide it.

An acute mind and a cunning mind are very dis-
similar. The first always pleases; it is unfettered, it
perceives the most delicate and sees the most impercep-
tible matters. A cunning spirit never goes straight, it
endeavours to secure its object by byeways and short
cuts. This conduct is soon found out, it always gives
rise to distrust and never reaches greatness.

There is a difference between an ardent and a
brilliant mind, a fiery spirit travels further and faster,
while a brilliant mind is sparkling, attractive, accu-
rate.

Gentleness of mind is an easy and accommodating
manner which always pleases when not insipid.

A mind full of details devotes itself to the manage-
ment and regulation of the smallest particulars it
meets with. This distinction is usually limited to
little matters, yet it is not absolutely incompatible
with greatness, and when these two qualities are
united in the same mind they raise it infinitely above
others.

The expression “BEL ESPRIT” is much perverted, for
all that one can say of the different kinds of mind
meet together in the “BEL ESPRIT.” Yet as the epithet
is bestowed on an infinite number of bad poets and
tedious authors, it is more often used to ridicule than
to praise.

There are yet many other epithets for the mind
which mean the same thing, the difference lies in the
tone and manner of saying them, but as tones and
manner cannot appear in writing I shall not go into
distinctions I cannot explain. Custom explains this
in saying that a man has wit, has much wit, that he
is a great wit; there are tones and manners which
make all the difference between phrases which seem
all alike on paper, and yet express a different order of
mind.

So we say that a man has only one kind of wit, that
he has several, that he has every variety of wit.

One can be a fool with much wit, and one need not
be a fool even with very little wit.

To have much mind is a doubtful expression. It
may mean every class of mind that can be mentioned,
it may mean none in particular. It may mean that
he talks sensibly while he acts foolishly. We may
have a mind, but a narrow one. A mind may be
fitted for some things, not for others. We may have
a large measure of mind fitted for nothing, and one is
often inconvenienced with much mind; still of this
kind of mind we may say that it is sometimes pleasing
in society.

Though the gifts of the mind are infinite, they can,
it seems to me, be thus classified.

There are some so beautiful that everyone can see
and feel their beauty.

There are some lovely, it is true, but which are
wearisome.

There are some which are lovely, which all the
world admire, but without knowing why.

There are some so refined and delicate that few are
capable even of remarking all their beauties.

There are others which, though imperfect, yet are
produced with such skill, and sustained and managed
with such sense and grace, that they even deserve to
be admired.

III. On Taste.

Some persons have more wit than taste, others have
more taste than wit. There is greater vanity and
caprice in taste than in wit.

The word taste has different meanings, which it is
easy to mistake. There is a difference between the
taste which in certain objects has an attraction for
us, and the taste that makes us understand and
distinguish the qualities we judge by.

We may like a comedy without having a sufficiently
fine and delicate taste to criticise it accurately. Some
tastes lead us imperceptibly to objects, from which
others carry us away by their force or intensity.

Some persons have bad taste in everything, others
have bad taste only in some things, but a correct and
good taste in matters within their capacity. Some
have peculiar taste, which they know to be bad, but
which they still follow. Some have a doubtful taste,
and let chance decide, their indecision makes them
change, and they are affected with pleasure or weari-
ness on their friends' judgment. Others are always
prejudiced, they are the slaves of their tastes, which
they adhere to in everything. Some know what is
good, and are horrified at what is not; their opinions
are clear and true, and they find the reason for their
taste in their mind and understanding.

Some have a species of instinct (the source of which
they are ignorant of), and decide all questions that
come before them by its aid, and always decide
rightly.

These follow their taste more than their intelligence,
because they do not permit their temper and self-love
to prevail over their natural discernment. All they
do is in harmony, all is in the same spirit. This
harmony makes them decide correctly on matters, and
form a correct estimate of their value. But speaking
generally there are few who have a taste fixed and
independent of that of their friends, they follow
example and fashion which generally form the stand-
ard of taste.

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