Superstition is part of the poetry of life.

Certain faults are necessary for the existence of the individual. We would resent it if old friends were to get rid of certain peculiarities.

No one would talk much in society if they knew how often they misunderstood others.

Woe to him who would ascribe something like reason to Chance, and make a religion of surrendering to it.

The best pleasures of this world are not quite true.

I nothing had, and yet enough for youth--Joy in Illusion, ardent thirst for Truth. Give unrestrained, the old emotion, The bliss that touched the verge of pain, The strength of Hate, Love's deep devotion,--O, give me back my youth again!

What we agree with leaves us inactive, but contradiction makes us productive.