The roots of the deepest love die in the heart, if not tenderly cherished.

Everyone loves his own country, customs, language, wife, children, not because they are the best in the world, but because they are his established property, and he loves in them himself, and the labor he has bestowed on them. The working of revolutions, therefore, misleads me no more; it is as necessary to our race as its waves to the stream, that it may not be a stagnant marsh. Ever renewed in its forms, the genius of humanity blossoms.

Thus we build on the ice, thus we write on the waves of the sea; the waves roaring pass away, the ice melts, and away goes our palace, like our thoughts.

All our science calculates with abstracted individual external marks, which do not touch the inner existence of any single thing

The roots of the deepest love die in the heart, if not tenderly cherished.

Without inspiration the best powers of the mind remain dormant. There is a fuel in us which needs to be ignited with sparks.

The working of revolutions misleads me no more; it is as necessary to our race as its waves to the stream, that it may not be a stagnant marsh. Ever renewed in its forms, the genius of humanity blossoms.