I love victory, but I love not triumph.

Happiness and Virtue clasp hands and walk together.

Love sometimes elevates, creates new qualities, suspends the working of evil inclinations; but only for a day. Love, then, is an Oriental despot, whose glance lifts a slave from the dust, and then consigns him to it again.

Let us shun everything, which might tend to efface the primitive lineaments of our individuality. Let us reflect that each one of us is a thought of God.

In a healthy state of the organism all wounds have a tendency to heal.

There are but two future verbs which man may appropriate confidently and without pride: "I shall suffer," and "I shall die.

The beings who appear cold, but are only timid, adore where they dare to love.