History furnishes to politics all the arguments that it needs, for the chosen cause.

I would rather have this life of combat than the moral calm and mournful stupor of these last years. God give me struggle, enemies, howling crowds, all the combot of which I am capable.

There is only one heroism in the world: to see the world as it is, and to love it.

Take possession of the air, submit the elements, penetrate the last redoubts of nature, make space retreat, make death retreat.

It is not peace that I seek, but life.

His (Swami Vivekananda) words are great music, phrases in the style of Beethoven, stirring rhythms like the march of Handel choruses. I cannot touch these sayings of his, scattered as they are through the pages of books, at thirty years' distance, without receiving a thrill through my body like an electric shock. And what shocks, what transports, must have been produced when in burning words they issued from the lips of the hero!

The friend who understands you, creates you.