If one does not reflect, one thinks oneself master of everything; when
one reflects thereon, one sees that one is master of nothing.

Should you wish to change a man's character completely, purge him with
diluents every day until you have killed him. Charles XII., in his
suppurative fever on the road to Bender, was no longer the same man. One
prevailed upon him as upon a child.

If I have a crooked nose and two cat's eyes, I can hide them with a
mask. Can I do more with the character which nature has given me?

A man born violent, hasty, presented himself before François I., King of
France, to complain of an injustice; the prince's countenance, the
respectful bearing of the courtiers, the very place where he is, make a
powerful impression on this man; mechanically he lowers his eyes, his
rough voice softens, he presents his petition humbly, one would believe
him born as gentle as are (at that moment at least) the courtiers,
amongst whom he is even disconcerted; but François I. understands
physiognomy, he easily discovers in the lowered eyes, burning
nevertheless with sombre fire, in the strained facial muscles, in the
compressed lips, that this man is not so gentle as he is forced to
appear. This man follows him to Pavia, is taken with him, led to the
same prison in Madrid: François I.'s majesty no longer makes the same
impression on him; he grows familiar with the object of his respect. One
day when pulling off the king's boots, and pulling them off badly, the
king, embittered by his misfortune, gets angry; my man sends the king
about his business, and throws his boots out of the window.

Sixtus V. was born petulant, stubborn, haughty, impetuous, vindictive,
arrogant; this character seemed softened during the trials of his