History is a great dust heap.

Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness.

Poetry is the attempt which man makes to render his existence harmonious.

Wise man was he who counselled that speculation should have free course, and look fearlessly towards all the thirty-two points of the compass, whithersoever and howsoever it listed.

Democracy will prevail when men believe the vote of Judas as good as that of Jesus Christ.

At worst, is not this an unjust world, full of nothing but beasts of prey, four-footed or two-footed?

Every noble work is at first impossible.