The walking of Man is falling forwards.

Bonaparte knew but one merit, and rewarded in one and the same way the good soldier, the good astronomer, the good poet, the good player.

Every discourse is an approximate answer: but it is of small consequence, that we do not get it into verbs and nouns, whilst it abides for contemplation forever.

I dip my pen in the blackest ink, because I'm not afraid of falling into my inkpot.

We are like travellers using the cinders of a volcano to roast their eggs. Whilst we see that it always stands ready to clothe what we would say, we cannot avoid the question whether the characters are not significant of themselves.

Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world.

What a new face courage puts on everything!