When a man says to me, "I have the intensest love of nature," at once I know that he has none.

Hence, instead of Man Thinking, we have the bookworm. Hence, the book-learned class, who value books, as such; not as related to nature and the human constitution, but as making a sort of Third Estate with the world and the soul. Hence, the restorers of readings, the emendators, the bibliomaniacs of all degrees.

The only sin that we never forgive in each other is a difference in opinion.

Magic and all that is ascribed to it is a deep presentiment of the powers of science.

No hope so bright but is the beginning of its own fulfilment.

Genius has infused itself into nature. It indicates itself by a small excess of good, a small balance in brute facts always favorable to the side of reason.

Dreams and beasts are two keys by which we find out the keys of our own nature.