Every year, in November, at the season that follows the hour of the dead, the crowning and majestic hours of autumn, I go to visit the chrysanthemums ... They are indeed, the most universal, the most diverse of flowers.

Above all, let us never forget that an act of goodness is in itself an act of happiness. It is the flower of a long inner life of joy and contentment; it tells of peaceful hours and days on the sunniest heights of our soul.

To be happy is only to have freed one's soul from the unrest of unhappiness.

The living are just the dead on holiday

The manner in which the hours of freedom are spent determines, no less than labor and war, the moral worth of a nation.

There comes no adventure but wears to our soul the shape of our everyday thoughts.

I have never for one instant seen clearly within myself. How then would you have me judge the deeds of others?