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

An army is a nation within a nation, it is one of the vices of courage.

I think, then, that man, after having satisfied his first longing for facts, wanted something fuller - some grouping, some adaptation to his capacity and experience, of the links of this vast chain of events which his sight could not take in.

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.

The human mind, I believe, cares for the True only in the general character of an epoch.

What is the use of theorizing as to wherein lies the charm that moves us?

Hope is the biggest of our foolish things.