Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Francois de La Rochefoucauld
François VI, Duc de La Rochefoucauld, Prince de Marcillacla ʁɔʃfuˈko]; 15 September 1613 – 17 March 1680) was a noted French author of maxims and memoirs. It is said that his world-view was clear-eyed and urbane, and that he neither condemned human conduct nor sentimentally celebrated it. Born in Paris on the Rue des Petits Champs, at a time when the royal court was vacillating between aiding the nobility and threatening it, he was considered an exemplar of the accomplished 17th-century...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth15 September 1613
CountryFrance
A certain harmony should be kept between actions and ideas if we want to fully develop the effects they can produce.
There are very few things impossible in themselves; and we do not want means to conquer difficulties so much as application and resolution in the use of means.
How can we be answerable for what we shall want in the future, since we have no clear idea of what we want now?
Though confidence is very fine, and makes the future sunny; I want no confidence for mine, I'd rather have the money
There are few things we should keenly desire if we really knew what we wanted.
Those who most obstinately oppose the most widely-held opinions more often do so because of pride than lack of intelligence. They find the best places in the right set already taken, and they do not want back seats.
Plenty of people want to be pious, but no one yearns to be humble.
We often are consoled by our want of reason for misfortunes that reason could not have comforted.
We should wish for few things with eagerness, if we perfectly knew the nature of that which was the object of our desire.
Cunning and treachery proceed from want of capacity.
In most of mankind gratitude is merely a secret hope of further favors.
You can find women who have never had an affair, but it is hard to find a woman who has had just one.
We often pardon those that annoy us, but we cannot pardon those we annoy.
How is it that we remember the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not remember how often we have recounted it to the same person?