Man's greatness is great in that he knows himself wretched. A tree does not know itself wretched. It is then being wretched to know oneself wretched; but it is being great to know that one is wretched.

All men have happiness as their object: there is no exception. However different the means they employ, they all aim at the same end.

We must keep our thought secret, and judge everything by it, while talking like the people.

We must kill them in war, just because they live beyond the river. If they lived on this side, we would be called murderers.

Nothing is so insufferable to man as to be completely at rest, without passions, without business, without diversion, without study. He then feels his nothingness, his forlornness, his insufficiency, his dependence, his weakness, his emptiness. There will immediately arise from the depth of his heart weariness, gloom, sadness, fretfulness, vexation, despair.

We must learn our limits. We are all something, but none of us are everything.

Continuous eloquence wearies. Grandeur must be abandoned to be appreciated. Continuity in everything is unpleasant. Cold is agreeable, that we may get warm.