Christianity is an idea, and as such is indestructible and immortal, like every idea.

Oh, what lies there are in kisses.

Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.

He who fears to venture as far as his heart urges and his reason permits, is a coward; he who ventures further than he intended to go, is a slave.

At noon I feel as though I could devour all the elephants of Hindostan, and then pick my teeth with the spire of Strasburg cathedral; in the evening I become so sentimental that I would fain drink up the Milky Way without reflecting how indigestible I should find the little fixed stars, and by night there is the Devil himself broke loose in my head and no mistake.

With his nightcaps and the tatters of his dressing-gown he patches up the gaps in the structure of the universe.

Terrible as is war, it yet displays the spiritual grandeur of man daring to defy his mightiest hereditary enemy--death.