Apart from Jesus Christ, we do not know what is our life, nor our death, nor God, nor ourselves.

Beauty is a harmonious relation between something in our nature and the quality of the object which delights us.

For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing, a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either. The ends of things and their beginnings are impregnably concealed from him in an impenetrable secret. He is equally incapable of seeing the nothingness out of which he was drawn and the infinite in which he is engulfed.

Man's true nature being lost, everything becomes his nature; as, his true good being lost, everything becomes his good.

Not to be mad is another form of madness

I maintain that, if everyone knew what others said about him, there would not be four friends in the world.

And is it not obvious that, just as it is a crime to disturb the peace when truth reigns, it is also a crime to remain at peace when the truth is being destroyed?