Tis the old secret of the gods that they come in low disguises.

The intellectual man requires a fine bait; the sots are easily amused. But everybody is drugged with his own frenzy, and the pageant marches at all hours, with music and banner and badge.

I unsettle all things.

It is a greater joy to see the author's author, than himself.

The Englishman who has lost his fortune is said to have died of a broken heart.

When a whole nation is roaring patriotism at the top of its voice, I am fain to explore the cleanness of its hands and the purity of its heart.

Sleep takes off the costume of circumstance, arms us with terrible freedom, so that every will rushes to a deed.