That which deceives us and does us harm, also undeceives us and does us good.

That which we know is but little; that which we have a presentiment of is immense; it is in this direction that the poet outruns the learned man.

The Holy Scriptures praise the dew of the morning and the dew of the evening; ros matutinum, ros serotinum! Happy is he who possesses the gift of tears! when young, he will bear flowers; when old, fruit!

Nothing vivifies, and nothing kills, like the emotions.

The historian must be a poet; not to find, but to find again; not to breathe life into beings, into imaginary deeds, but in order to re-animate and revive that which has been; to represent what time and space have placed at a distance from us.

What is love? two souls and one flesh; friendship? two bodies and one soul.

The vital air of friendship is composed of confidence. Friendship perishes in proportion as this air diminishes.