No army can withstand the strength of an idea whose time has come.
. . .where there is no more hope, song remains.
...Though we chisel away as best we can at the mysterious block from which our life is made, the black vein of destiny continually reappears.
Not seeing people permits us to imagine them with every perfection.
At a certain depth of distress, the poor, in their stupor, groan no longer over evil, and are no longer thankful for good.
Let the one fight for his flag, and the other for his ideal, and let them both imagine that they are fighting for the country; the strife will be colossal.