The heart becomes heroic through passion. It is no longer composed of anything but what is pure; it no longer rests upon anything but what is elevated and great.

Men hate those to whom they have to lie.

Philosophy is the microscope of thought. Everything desires to flee from it, but nothing escapes it.

To be perfectly happy it does not suffice to possess happiness, it is necessary to have deserved it.

A fall from such a height is rarely straight downwards.

The death agony of the barricade was about to begin.For, since the preceding evening, the two rows of houses in the Rue de la Chanvrerie had become two walls; ferocious walls, doors closed, windows closed, shutters closed. A house is an escarpment, a door is a refusal, a facade is a wall. This wall hears, sees and will not. It might open and save you. No. This wall is a judge. It gazes at you and condemns you. What dismal things are closed houses.

Not seeing people permits us to imagine them with every perfection.