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François VI, duc de la Rochefoucauld, prince de Marcillac (French: [fʁɑ̃swa d(ə) la ʁɔʃfuko]; 15 September 1613 – 17 March 1680) was a noted French author of maxims and memoirs. It is said that his world-view was clear-eyed and urbane, and that he neither condemned human conduct nor sentimentally celebrated it. Born in Paris on the Rue des Petits Champs, at a time when the royal court was vacillating between aiding the nobility and threatening it, he was considered an exemplar of the accomplished 17th-century nobleman. Until 1650, he bore the title of Prince de Marcillac.
Did the mystical self-examination of the Catholic Counter-Reformation give the impetus to the Duke of Ia Rochefoucauld to dream up these Zingers? For his words are armed and dangerous to our inflated egos…
I wonder. But however we recce his background, his apercus can slice and dice our everyday selves by casting a "sudden shaft of sunlight" upon them!
Bores beware.
There is no fool like an old fool, and they STILL shred my own self-possession, decades after the first reading. Gift this book to a vainglorious enemy and he'll never forgive you - so La Rochefoucauld's maxims cut us ALL to the quick.
And a host of imitators followed him to literary glory - my faves being La Bruyere and, for our 'all work and no play makes for a dull day' more decadent age, Chamfort, who is still uncomfortably cast in the Moraliste mold.
Cyril Connelly's wartime panagyric to the latter author, The Unquiet Grave, is an introspective classic: he describes us moderns as being like Palinurus, Aeneas' drowned steersman, because we have lost our way in life and have fallen asleep, but are constantly prodded awake by the devils of duty.
And that's the bottom line for La Rochefoucauld.
He sees his friends as fast asleep - so slowly awakens them with his cute barbed quips - for as one-liners they also make super party-time ice-breakers.
And if you'd like to see your OWN soul as clearly as your face in the mirror, and likewise awaken to your folly: