Progress is the life-style of man.

The man who does not know other languages, unless he is a man of genius, necessarily has deficiencies in his ideas.

Out Milky Way is the dwelling; the nebulae are the city.

Should we continue to look upwards? Is the light we can see in the sky one of those which will presently be extinguished? The ideal is terrifying to behold... brilliant but threatened on all sides by the dark forces that surround it: nevertheless, no more in danger than a star in the jaws of the clouds.

He is the best gentleman that is the son of his own deserts, and not the degenerated heir of another's virtue.

To love is the half of to believe.

I think, therefore I doubt.