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.

Who is the most sensible person? The one who finds what is to their own advantage in all that happens to them.

Oh how sweet it is to hear one's own convictions from another's lips.

From desire I plunge to its fulfilment, where I long once more for desire.

When we treat man as he is, we make him worse than he is; when we treat him as if he already were what he potentially could be, we make him what he should be.

Religion is not in want of art; it rests on its own majesty.

If the mass of people hesitate to act, strike with swiftly and with boldness, the brave heart that understands and seizes opportunity can everything.