Only passions, and great passions, can raise the soul to great things. Without them there is no sublimity, either in morals or in creativity. Art returns to infancy, and virtue becomes small-minded.

All children are essentially criminal.

Which is the greater merit, to enlighten the human race, which remains forever, or to save one's fatherland, which is perishable?

I have only a small flickering light to guide me in the darkness of a thick forest. Up comes a theologian and blows it out.

For me, my thoughts are my prostitutes.

I discuss with myself questions of politics, love, taste, or philosophy. I let my mind rove wantonly, give it free rein to followany idea, wise or mad that may present itself. My ideas are my harlots.

My ideas are my whores.