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


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


Ardor for learning became so far a


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


Catholic must content himself with the

decisions of others

Caution is needless after the evil has


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


Dissembler, though, in fact, I was only


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


Hastening on to death without having


Hat, only fit to be carried under his


Have the pleasure of seeing an ass ride

on horseback

Have ever preferred suffering to owing

Her excessive admiration or dislike of


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


I felt no dread but that of being


I was long a child, and am so yet in

many particulars

I am charged with the care of myself


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


Law that the accuser should be confined

at the same time

Left to nature the whole care of my own


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


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


Making me sensible of every deficiency

Manoeuvres of an author to the care of

publishing a good book

Men, in general, make God like


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


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


Protestants, in general, are better


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


Remorse sleeps in the calm sunshine of


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


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


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


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.

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