Whoever gives himself up to solitude, Ah! he is soon alone.

Very few people love others for what they are; rather, they love what they lend them, their own selves, their own idea of them.

Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.

I don't know a greater advantage, than to appreciate the worth of an enemy.

Mysterious in the light of day, nature retains her veil, despite our clamours: That which she does not willingly display cannot be wrenched from her with levers, screws and hammers.

The man who masters himself is delivered from the force that binds all creatures.

Mannerism is always longing to have done, and has no true enjoyment in work. A genuine, really great talent, on the other hand, has its greatest happiness in execution.