We live in an age of universal investigation, and of exploration of the sources of all movements.

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?

Doubt is the freedom of thought. Any claim to truth can be doubted.

France, for example, loves at the same time history and the drama, because the one explores the vast destinies of humanity, and the other the individual lot of man.

History is a novel for which the people is the author.

On the day when man told the story of his life to man, history was born.

What is a great life but a youthful intention carried out in maturity?