On dit quelquefois, le sens commun est fort rare...
Philosophical Dictionary ('Sens Commun') https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Voltaire_-_Dictionnaire_philosophique_portatif,_6e_%C3%A9dition,_tome_2.djvu/209 (1767).
Compare Juvenal, Satires, viii:73:
Original Latin: rarus enim ferme sensus communis in illa fortuna http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/juvenal/8.shtml.
Published translation in French (1731): Il est fort rare qu'on conserve le Sens commun dans une si haute fortune. https://books.google.com/books?id=lFBkAAAAcAAJ&pg=PA335&dq=%22Le+sens+commun%22+%22fort+rare%22&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjepqeYtNfLAhUS3mMKHb30BdkQ6AEIHDAA#v=onepage&q=%22il%20est%20fort%20rare%22&f=false
English translation: For rarely are civic sympathies [alternative translation: common sense] to be found in that rank".
Citas, Dictionnaire philosophique (1764)
On dit quelquefois, le sens commun est fort rare…
Dictionnaire philosophique (1764)
“Common sense is as rare as genius.”
"Teaching and Thinking" in The Montreal Medical Journal (1895).
“Common sense is the very antipodes of science.”
Edward B. Titchener, Systematic Psychology: Prolegomena (1972), p. 48
“Of course it doesn't make sense." Lady Wendall said. "The rules of society rarely do.”
Source: Magician's Ward
“I’m a very compassionate person (with a very high IQ) with strong common sense.”
" Donald Trump's IQ obsession, in 22 quotes https://edition.cnn.com/2017/10/10/politics/donald-trump-tillerson-iq/index.html" (April 21, 2021)
2013
“It has been said that there is nothing more uncommon than common sense.”
Natural Theology (1836), Bk. II, Ch. III : On the Strength of the Evidences for a God in the Phenomena of Visible and External Nature, § 15; though provided without attribution of author, the saying "There is nothing more uncommon than common sense" has since become misattributed to particular people, including Frank Lloyd Wright.
Source: Glamour: A World Problem (1950), Certain Preliminary Clarifications
“I said "writer," not "poet;" I did have some common sense.”
On Writing Poetry (1995)
Context: My English teacher from 1955, run to ground by some documentary crew trying to explain my life, said that in her class I had showed no particular promise. This was true. Until the descent of the giant thumb, I showed no particular promise. I also showed no particular promise for some time afterwards, but I did not know this. A lot of being a poet consists of willed ignorance. If you woke up from your trance and realized the nature of the life-threatening and dignity-destroying precipice you were walking along, you would switch into actuarial sciences immediately. If I had not been ignorant in this particular way, I would not have announced to an assortment of my high school female friends, in the cafeteria one brown-bag lunchtime, that I was going to be a writer. I said "writer," not "poet;" I did have some common sense. But my announcement was certainly a conversation-stopper. Sticks of celery were suspended in mid-crunch, peanut-butter sandwiches paused halfway between table and mouth; nobody said a word. One of those present reminded me of this incident recently — I had repressed it — and said she had been simply astounded. "Why?," I said. "Because I wanted to be a writer?" "No," she said. "Because you had the guts to say it out loud."
