Though the doctors treated him, let his blood, and gave him medications to drink, he nevertheless recovered.

The hero of my tale, whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful, is Truth.

All art has this characteristic-it unites people.

And not only the pride of intellect, but the stupidity of intellect. And, above all, the dishonesty, yes, the dishonesty of intellect. Yes, indeed, the dishonesty and trickery of intellect.

Teach French and unteach sincerity.

He sought his former accustomed fear of death and did not find it. "Where is it? What death?" There was no fear because there was no death. In place of death there was light.

Reason unites us, not only with our contemporaries, but with men who lived two thousand years before us, and with those who will live after us.