CONFESSIONS OF ROUSSEAU
By Jean Jacques Rousseau
Stealing an Apple
The Laboratory
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 prejudices
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
If you wish to read the entire context of any of these quotations, select a short segment and copy it into your clipboard memory—then open the following eBook and paste the phrase into your computer's find or search operation.
[The Complete Project Gutenberg Confessions of Rousseau]
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.