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.

To a father who loves his children victor has no charms. When the heart speaks, glory itself is an illusion.

No amount of money will induce someone to lay down their life, but they will gladly do so for a bit of yellow ribbon.

Friendship is but a name. I love no one.

Power is my mistress. I have worked too hard at her conquest to allow anyone to take her away from me.

He is almost a statesman. He lies well.

Ordinarily men exercise their memory much more than their judgment.