sure, though, the others will make him be silent and receive with
kindness the effusions of a praiseworthy sentiment.

I have something to say about my style, which, as Buffon says, is
all the man.

Let none think I come to ask for a favor which is never granted to
those who need it. I wish merely to make an explanation.

I should write well, for Voltaire, Jean Jacques, Fenelon, Buffon,
and Cochin and Aguesseau were my favorite authors. I knew them by
heart.

It may be though, that the gods ordered otherwise; if so, this is
the cause of the will of the gods.

I know five languages which now are spoken, which gives me an
immense refectory of words.

When I need a word and do not find it in French, I select it from
other tongues, and the reader has either to understand or
translate me. Such is my fate.

I could have acted otherwise, but was prevented by a kind of
system to which I was invincibly attached.

I am satisfied that the French language which I use is
comparatively poor. What could I do? Either borrow or steal.

I did neither, for such borrowings, cannot be restored, though to