Rest is for the dead.

War is a quarrel between two thieves too cowardly to fight their own battle; therefore they take boys from one village and another village, stick them into uniforms, equip them with guns, and let them loose like wild beasts against one other.

Books are a triviality. Life alone is great.

A man protesting against error is on the way towards uniting himself with all men that believe in truth.

A well-written life is almost as rare as a well-spent one.

There are female dandies as well as clothes-wearing men; and the former are as objectionable as the latter.

In a different time, in a different place, it is always some other side of our common human nature that has been developing itself. The actual truth is the sum of all these.