It is the end. But of what? The end of France? No. The end of kings? Yes.

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

A bird sings, a child prattles, but it is the same hymn; hymn indistinct, inarticulate, but full of profound meaning.

The man is placed where the Earth ends, the woman, where the heaven starts.

Justice has its anger, my lord Bishop, and the wrath of justice is an element of progress. Whatever else may be said of it, the French Revolution was the greatest step forward by mankind since the coming of Christ. It was unfinished, I agree, but still it was sublime. It released the untapped springs of society; it softened hearts, appeased, tranquilized, enlightened, and set flowing through the world the tides of civilization. It was good. The French Revolution was the anointing of humanity.

War can only be qualified by its object, and there is neither foreign war nor civil war, there is only just or unjust war.

Youth, even in its sorrows, always has a brilliancy of its own.