Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.
Every age has its problem, by solving which humanity is helped forward.
The foolish race of mankind are swarming below in the night; they shriek and rage and quarrel - and all of them are right.
A brainiac notices everything, an ignoramus comments about everything.
Whatever tears one may shed, in the end one always blows one's nose.
In dark ages people are best guided by religion, as in a pitch-black night a blind man is the best guide; he knows the roads and paths better than a man who can see. When daylight comes, however, it is foolish to use blind, old men as guides.