O my friends, there is no friend:  Aristotle
     Oftentimes agitated with divers passions
     Ordinary friendships, you are to walk with bridle in your hand
     Ought not only to have his hands, but his eyes, too, chaste
     Our judgments are yet sick
     Perfect friendship I speak of is indivisible
     Philosophy
     Phusicians cure by by misery and pain
     Prefer in bed, beauty before goodness
     Pretending to find out the cause of every accident
     Reputation:  most useless, frivolous, and false coin that passes
     Reserve a backshop, wholly our own and entirely free
     Rest satisfied, without desire of prolongation of life or name
     Stilpo lost wife, children, and goods
     Stilpo:  thank God, nothing was lost of his
     Take two sorts of grist out of the same sack
     Taking things upon trust from vulgar opinion
     Tearing a body limb from limb by racks and torments
     The consequence of common examples
     There are defeats more triumphant than victories
     They can neither lend nor give anything to one another
     They have yet touched nothing of that which is mine
     They must be very hard to please, if they are not contented
     Things that engage us elsewhere and separate us from ourselves
     This decay of nature which renders him useless, burdensome
     This plodding occupation of bookes is as painfull as any other
     Those immodest and debauched tricks and postures
     Though I be engaged to one forme, I do not tie the world unto it
     Title of barbarism to everything that is not familiar
     To give a currency to his little pittance of learning
     To make their private advantage at the public expense
     Under fortune’s favour, to prepare myself for her disgrace
     Vice of confining their belief to their own capacity
     We have lived enough for others
     We have more curiosity than capacity
     We still carry our fetters along with us
     When time begins to wear things out of memory
     Wherever the mind is perplexed, it is in an entire disorder
     Who can flee from himself
     Wise man never loses anything if he have himself
     Wise whose invested money is visible in beautiful villas
     Write what he knows, and as much as he knows, but no more
     You and companion are theatre enough to one another

ESSAYS OF MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE

Translated by Charles Cotton

Edited by William Carew Hazilitt

1877

CONTENTS OF VOLUME 7.

XXXIX.  A consideration upon Cicero. 
XL.  That the relish of good and evil depends in a great measure
          upon opinion. 
XLI.  Not to communicate a man’s honour. 
XLII.  Of the inequality amongst us. 
XLIII.  Of sumptuary laws. 
XLIV.  Of sleep. 
XLV.  Of the battle of Dreux. 
XLVI.  Of names. 
XLVII.  Of the uncertainty of our judgment.