what's know as systematisation in philosophy, or philosophical prose as such, is an endeavour to hide maxims... that only surface more like concepts than applicable truths to the everyday keen eye eager to anticipate them as laden with believability... philosophical prose hides maxims, it weaves them tightly like a spider creating a cocoon of a trapped fly in the web that philosophical prose is... it doesn't create a style of aphoristic waterfalls that leave the eyes darting: a moment here, a moment there... the spider required 8 dimensions (8 eyes) to adapt a structure adequate for the haphazard flight of flies, twirling in mini-tornadoes - the spider-web is hardly a chance by-product, but only 8 eyes could have crafted its weaving... and as said prior, the aphoristic style of writing philosophy is worthwhile, i can't deny that, but it's so eye-distracting... it can only be achieved by a life filled where much life takes place, so in the case of la rochefoucauld in the court of louis xiii, his queen anne of austria, and the infamous cardinal richelieu... this outburst of maxims / observations / aphorisms is only effectively produced in such circumstances... other works of philosophy are born in recluse, maxims hidden in thickly bulging tightly-knit prose... they're effectively not as tremendous, piquant... it's the entirety of the composition that loves to hide them, and create yet more prose on the zenith they are produced for... they can hardly be spotted as easily as the sole extraction of maxims... but maxims akin to la rochefoucauld can be easily extracted, esp. if one is placed in situations were the crème de la crème mingle, one can easily defraud situations according to: vanity, self-love, friendship bargains, the passions, fortune, chance, jealousy, envy, virtue, moderation, wisdom, foolery, morality, immorality, a woman's coquetry v. her flirtations... all these things, all these proper summations of the surroundings could never allow philosophical prose for the sole purpose of hiding maxims... such environments are screaming maxims out, layered over by a distant asylum of anguish, adorned with jewels and refinements of fabric... but with skull sockets filled with two coal nuggets.