It is as a soldier that you make love and as a lover that you make war.

In order to cure a feeling of malaise, you have to throw light on it.

Mad is the man who is forever gritting his teeth against that granite block, complete and changeless, of the past.

Only he can understand what a farm is, what a country is, who shall have sacrificed part of himself to his farm or country, fought to save it, struggled to make it beautiful. Only then will the love of farm or country fill his heart.

On ne sait jamais! One never knows!

How could drops of water know themselves to be a river? Yet the river flows on.

One must observe the proper rites.