If people were not wicked I should not mind their being stupid; but, to our misfortune, they are both.

I love everything that makes up a milieu, the rolling of the carriages and the noise of the workmen in Paris, the cries of a thousand birds in the country, the movement of the ships on the waters. I love also absolute, profound silence, and, in short, I love everything that is around me, no matter where I am.

Genius, whether locked up in a cell or roaming at large, is always solitary.

We cannot tear out a single page of our life, but we can throw the whole book in the fire.

One is happy as a result of one's own efforts, once one knows of the necessary ingredients of happiness-simple tastes, a certain degree of courage, self-denial to a point, love of work, and, above all, a clear conscience. Happiness is no vague dream, of that I now feel certain.

I have no enthusiasm for nature which the slightest chill will not instantly destroy.

You can bind my body, tie my hands, govern my actions: you are the strongest, and society adds to your power; but with my will, sir, you can do nothing.