Revolutions are like the most noxious dungheaps, which bring into life the noblest vegetables.

All men of genius, and all those who have gained rank in the republic of letters, are brothers, whatever may be the land of their nativity.

Democracy may become frenzied, but it has feelings and can be moved. As for aristocracy, it is always cold and never forgives.

They wanted me to be a Washington.

Whatever misanthropists may say, ingrates and the perverse are exceptions in the human species.

After me, the Revolution - or, rather the ideas which formed it - will resume their course. It will be like a book from which the marker is removed, and one starts to read again at the page where one left off.

History paints the human heart.