“Adieu, beloved year! whom I but now unjustly accused.  That which I have suffered must not be laid to thee; for thou wast but a tract through which God had marked out my road—­a ground where I had reaped the harvest I had sown.  I will love thee, thou wayside shelter, for those hours of happiness thou hast seen me enjoy; I will love thee even for the suffering thou hast seen me endure.  Neither happiness nor suffering came from thee; but thou hast been the scene for them.  Descend again then, in peace, into eternity, and be blest, thou who hast left me experience in the place of youth, sweet memories instead of past time, and gratitude as payment for good offices.”

     ETEXT editor’s bookmarks: 

     Ambroise Pare:  ‘I tend him, God cures him!’
     Are we then bound to others only by the enforcement of laws
     Attach a sense of remorse to each of my pleasures
     But above these ruins rises a calm and happy face
     Contemptuous pride of knowledge
     Death, that faithful friend of the wretched
     Houses are vessels which take mere passengers
     I make it a rule never to have any hope
     Ignorant of what there is to wish for
     Looks on an accomplished duty neither as a merit nor a grievance
     More stir than work
     Nothing is dishonorable which is useful
     Richer than France herself, for I have no deficit in my budget
     Satisfy our wants, if we know how to set bounds to them
     Sensible man, who has observed much and speaks little
     Sullen tempers are excited by the patience of their victims
     The happiness of the wise man costs but little
     We do not understand that others may live on their own account
     What have you done with the days God granted you
     You may know the game by the lair

     ETEXT editor’s bookmarks from the entire “Attic” Philosopher: 

     Always to mistake feeling for evidence
     Ambroise Pare:  ‘I tend him, God cures him!’
     Are we then bound to others only by the enforcement of laws
     Attach a sense of remorse to each of my pleasures
     Brought them up to poverty
     But above these ruins rises a calm and happy face
     Carn-ival means, literally, “farewell to flesh!”
     Coffee is the grand work of a bachelor’s housekeeping
     Contemptuous pride of knowledge
     Death, that faithful friend of the wretched
     Defeat and victory only displace each other by turns
     Did not think the world was so great
     Do they understand what makes them so gay? 
     Each of us regards himself as the mirror of the community
     Ease with which the poor forget their wretchedness
     Every one keeps his holidays in his own way
     Fame and power are gifts that are dearly bought
     Favorite and conclusive answer of his class—­“I know”