Friends are fictions founded on some single momentary experience.

Friends are ourselves.

We cherish our friends not for their ability to amuse us but for ours to amuse them.

In meeting again after a separation, acquaintances ask after our outward life, friends after our inner life.

I count myself in nothing else so happy / As in a soul remembering my good friends.

I am weary of friends, and friendships are all monsters.

Friendship is not possible between two women, one of whom is very well dressed.

Friendships begin with liking or gratitude—roots that can be pulled up.

Friendship was given by nature to be an assistant to virtue, not a companion to vice.

Friend! It is a common word, often lightly used. Like other good and beautiful things, it may be tarnished by careless handling.