Seeking, by fresh offences, a return of the same chastisement Sin consisted only in the scandal Slighting her favors, if within your reach, a unpardonable crime Sometimes encourage hopes they never mean to realize Substituting cunning to knowledge Supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable Taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had imagined That which neither women nor authors ever pardon The malediction of knaves is the glory of an honest man The conscience of the guilty would revenge the innocent There is nothing in this world but time and misfortune There is no clapping of hands before the king This continued desire to control me in all my wishes Though not a fool, I have frequently passed for one To make him my apologies for the offence he had given me True happiness is indescribable, it is only to be felt Trusting too implicitly to their own innocence Tyranny of persons who called themselves my friends Virtuous minds, which vice never attacks openly Voltaire was formed never to be(happy) We learned to dissemble, to rebel, to lie What facility everything which favors the malignity of man When once we make a secret of anything to the person we love When everyone is busy, you may continue silent Whence comes it that even a child can intimidate a man Where merit consists in belief, and not in virtue Whole universe would be interested in my concerns Whose discourses began by a distribution of millions Wish thus to be revenged of me for their humiliation Without the least scruple, freely disposing of my time Writing for bread would soon have extinguished my genius Yielded him the victory, or rather declined the contest