Antoine de Rivarol (26 June 1753 – 11 April 1801) was a Royalist French writer during the Revolutionary era. He was briefly married to the translator Louisa Henrietta de Rivarol.
Generally speaking, there is more wit than talent in the world. Society swarms with witty people who lack talent.
There are men who gain from their wealth only the fear of losing it.
Of every ten persons who talk about you, nine will say something bad, and the tenth will say something good in a bad way.
Memory always obeys the commands of the heart.
Vices are often habits rather than passions.
Extremes produce reaction. Beware that our boasted civilization does not lapse into barbarism.
It is, no doubt, an immense advantage to have done nothing, but one should not abuse it.
History is only time furnished with dates and rich with events.
There are some women who are flirts upon principle; they consider it their duty to make themselves as pleasing as possible to every one.
It is the dim haze of mystery that adds enchantment to pursuit.
Tenderness is the infancy of love.
The subtle sauce of malice is often indulged in by maidens of uncertain age, over their tea.
Brave men do not boast nor bluster. Deeds, not words, speak for such.
If poverty makes man groan, he yawns in opulence. When fortune exempts us from labor, nature overwhelms us with time.
Familiarity is the root of the closest friendships, as well as the interests hatreds.
That which happens to the soil when it ceases to be cultivated by the social man happens to man himself when he foolishly forsakes society for solitude; the brambles grow up in his desert heart.
Poverty treads close upon the heels of great and unexpected wealth.
Wrong is wrong; no fallacy can hide it, no subterfuge cover it so shrewdly but that the All-Seeing One will discover and punish it.
Mutability is written upon all things.
It is easy for men to write and talk like philosophers, but to act with wisdom, there is the rub!