The existence of the soldier, next to capital punishment, is the most grievous vestige of barbarism which survives among men.

Of what use were the arts if they were only the reproduction and the imitation of life?

Of what use is the memory of facts, if not to serve as an example of good or of evil?

I love the majesty of human suffering.

A calm despair, without angry convulsions or reproaches directed at heaven, is the essence of wisdom.

Silence alone is great; all else is feebleness . . . Perform with all your heart your long and heavy task. . . . Then as do I, say naught, but suffer and die.

Just as we descend into our consciences to judge of actions which our minds can not weigh, can we not also search in ourselves for the feeling which gives birth to forms of thought, always vague and cloudy?