Our destiny often looks like a fruit-tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs could next spring again be green, bloom, and even bear fruit? Yet we hope it, we know it.

The heights charm us, but the steps do not; with the mountain in our view we love to walk the plains.

There is nothing in life so irrational, that good sense and chance may not set it to rights; nothing so rational, that folly and chance may not utterly confound it.

Let there be truth between us.

The style of an author is a faithful copy of his mind.

Master and Doctor are my titles; for ten years now, without repose, I held my erudite recitals and led my pupils by the nose.

The man who occupies the first place seldom plays the principal part.