I made all my generals out of mud.

This soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his dog. I looked on, unmoved, at battles which decided the future of nations. Tearless, I had given orders which brought death to thousands. Yet here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred to tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog. Napoleon Bonaparte, on finding a dog beside the body of his dead master, licking his face and howling, on a moonlit field after a battle. Napoleon was haunted by this scene until his own death.

We must laugh at man to avoid crying for him.

Soldiers generally win battles; generals get credit for them.

From triumph to downfall is but a step. I have seen a trifle decide the most important issues in the gravest affairs.

One should never forbid what one lacks the power to prevent.

Put a rogue in the limelight and he will act like an honest man.