God, that checkroom of our dreams.
Falsity cannot keep an idea from being beautiful; there are certain errors of such ingenuity that one could regret their not ranking among the achievements of the human mind.
In our ideals we unwittingly reveal our vices.
There are certain moments when we might wish the future were built by men of the past.
We find it easy to believe that praise is sincere: why should anyone lie in telling us the truth?
Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god.