You may impose silence upon me, but you can not prevent me from thinking.
Oblivion is the flower that grows best on graves.
If people were not wicked I should not mind their being stupid; but, to our misfortune, they are both.
We must love stupid people better than ourselves; are they not the really unfortunate ones of this world? Do not people without taste and without ideal grow constantly weary, rejoicing in nothing, and being quite useless here below?
No one makes a revolution by himself.
I'm beginning to believe that there are angels disguised as men who pass themselves off as such and who inhabit the earth for a while to console and lift up with them toward heaven the poor, exhausted and saddened souls who were ready to perish here below.