CONFESSIONS OF ROUSSEAU



By Jean Jacques Rousseau





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Stealing an Apple














































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The Laboratory














































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The Hermitage

A feeling heart the foundation of all

my misfortunes



A religion preached by such

missionaries must lead to paradise!



A subject not even fit to make a priest

of



A man, on being questioned, is

immediately on his guard



Adopted the jargon of books, than the

knowledge they contained



All animals are distrustful of man, and

with reason



All your evils proceed from yourselves!



An author must be independent of

success



Ardor for learning became so far a

madness



Aversion to singularity



Avoid putting our interests in

competition with our duty



Being beat like a slave, I judged I had

a right to all vices



Bilboquet



Catholic must content himself with the

decisions of others



Caution is needless after the evil has

happened



Cemented by reciprocal esteem



Considering this want of decency as an

act of courage



Conversations were more serviceable

than his prescriptions



Degree of sensuality had mingled with

the smart and shame



Die without the aid of physicians



Difficult to think nobly when we think

for a livelihood



Dine at the hour of supper; sup when I

should have been asleep



Disgusted with the idle trifling of a

convent



Dissembler, though, in fact, I was only

courteous



Dying for love without an object



Endeavoring to hide my incapacity, I

rarely fail to show it



Endeavoring to rise too high we are in

danger of falling



Ever appearing to feel as little for

others as herself



Finding in every disease symptoms

similar to mine



First instance of violence and

oppression is so deeply engraved



First time in my life, of saying, "I

merit my own esteem"



Flattery, or rather condescension, is

not always a vice



Force me to be happy in the manner they

should point out



Foresight with me has always embittered

enjoyment



Hastening on to death without having

lived



Hat, only fit to be carried under his

arm



Have the pleasure of seeing an ass ride

on horseback



Have ever preferred suffering to owing



Her excessive admiration or dislike of

everything



Hold fast to aught that I have, and yet

covet nothing more



Hopes, in which self-love was by no

means a loser



How many wrongs are effaced by the

embraces of a friend!



I never much regretted sleep



I strove to flatter my idleness



I never heard her speak ill of persons

who were absent



I loved her too well to wish to possess

her



I felt no dread but that of being

detected



I was long a child, and am so yet in

many particulars



I am charged with the care of myself

only



I only wished to avoid giving offence



I did not fear punishment, but I

dreaded shame



I had a numerous acquaintance, yet no

more than two friends



Idea of my not being everything to her



Idleness is as much the pest of society

as of solitude



If you have nothing to do, you must

absolutely speak continually



In the course of their lives frequently

unlike themselves



In company I suffer cruelly by inaction



In a nation of blind men, those with

one eye are kings



Indolence, negligence and delay in

little duties to be fulfilled



Indolence of company is burdensome

because it is forced



Injustice of mankind which embitters

both life and death



Insignificant trash that has obtained

the name of education



Instead of being delighted with the

journey only wished arrival



Is it possible to dissimulate with

persons whom we love?



Jean Bapiste Rousseau



Knew how to complain, but not how to

act



Law that the accuser should be confined

at the same time



Left to nature the whole care of my own

instruction



Less degree of repugnance in divulging

what is really criminal



Letters illustrious in proportion as it

was less a trade



Loaded with words and redundancies



Looking on each day as the last of my

life



Love of the marvellous is natural to

the human heart



Make men like himself, instead of

taking them as they were



Making their knowledge the measure of

possibilities



Making me sensible of every deficiency



Manoeuvres of an author to the care of

publishing a good book



Men, in general, make God like

themselves



Men of learning more tenaciously retain

their predjudices



Mistake wit for sense



Moment I acquired literary fame, I had

no longer a friend



Money that we possess is the instrument

of liberty



Money we lack and strive to obtain is

the instrument of slavery



More stunned than flattered by the

trumpet of fame



More folly than candor in the

declaration without necessity



Multiplying persons and adventures



My greatest faults have been omissions



Myself the principal object



Necessity, the parent of industry,

suggested an invention



Neither the victim nor witness of any

violent emotions



No sooner had lost sight of men than I

ceased to despise them



No longer permitted to let old people

remain out of Paris



Not so easy to quit her house as to

enter it



Not knowing how to spend their time,

daily breaking in upon me



Nothing absurd appears to them

incredible



Obliged to pay attention to every

foolish thing uttered



Obtain their wishes, without permitting

or promising anything



One of those affronts which women

scarcely ever forgive



Only prayer consisted in the single

interjection "Oh!"



Painful to an honest man to resist

desires already formed



Passed my days in languishing in

silence for those I most admire



Piety was too sincere to give way to

any affectation of it



Placing unbounded confidence in myself

and others



Prescriptions serve to flatter the

hopes of the patient



Priests ought never to have children--

except by married women



Proportioned rather to her ideas than

abilities



Protestants, in general, are better

instructed



Rather bashful than modest



Rather appeared to study with than to

instruct me



Read the hearts of others by

endeavoring to conceal our own



Read description of any malady without

thinking it mine



Read without studying



Remorse wakes amid the storms of

adversity



Remorse sleeps in the calm sunshine of

prosperity



Reproach me with so many contradictions



Return of spring seemed to me like

rising from the grave



Rogues know how to save themselves at

the expense of the feeble



Satisfaction of weeping together



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



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These quotations were collected from the "Confessions of Rousseau" by David Widger while preparing etexts for Project Gutenberg. Comments and suggestions will be most welcome.

--And many thanks for your persistence in reading all the way to the end of this page.        D.W.