It is dangerous to abandon one's self to the luxury of grief; it deprives one of courage, and even of the wish for recovery.

To feel keenly the poetry of a morning's roses, one has to have just escaped from the claws of this vulture which we call sickness.

Our life is nothing, it is true, but our life is divine. A breath of nature annihilates us, but we surpass nature in penetrating far beyond her vast phantasmagoria to the changeless and the eternal.

Knowledge, love, power-there is the complete life.

Self-interest is an inexhaustible source of convenient illusions. The number of beings who wish to see truly is extraordinarily small.

It is work which gives flavor to life.

Every life is a profession of faith, and exercises an inevitable and silent influence.