Solitude (n.) is pleasant for as long as you have made yourself worth spending time with.
Solitude (n.) for the sage is Jupiter's when the world dissolves: he retires into himself and keeps his own company.
Solitude (n.) does not teach virtue, but with the onlookers gone, faults that ripen in publicity sink into the background; ambition and luxury need a stage.
Solitude (n.) and company must take turns: one makes us long for other people, the other for ourselves, and each is the cure for the other.
Solitude (n.) is only for the good man; anyone else had better withdraw into a crowd to get away from himself — alone, you are too close to a rascal.
Solitude (n.) is unbearable only to those who cannot endure their own company, and the worst of our condition is that we are never on our own — we bully, pester and quarrel inside ourselves.
Solitude (n.) prompts us to all kinds of evil — so act as if anyone at all were looking on, until you become the sort of person in whose company you would not dare to sin.
Solitude (n.) gives the thoughtless man nothing but a stage for his base desires; its one benefit — trusting no one, fearing no witness — is lost on the fool, for he betrays himself.