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.

What is the future? What is the past? What are we? What is the magic fluid that surrounds us and conceals the things we most need to know? We live and die in the midst of marvels.

The first virtue in a soldier is endurance of fatigue; courage is only the second virtue.

No one but myself can be blamed for my fall. I have been my own greatest enemy-the cause of my own disastrous fate.

An army which cannot be reenforced is already defeated.

I know he's a good general, but is he lucky?

Those who failed to oppose me, who readily agreed with me and accepted all my views, were those who did me the most injury.