I believe in religion against the religious; in the pitifulness of orisons, and in the sublimity of prayer.

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

Brothers, he who dies here dies in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.

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

Doing nothing is happiness for children and misery for old men.

She was sad with an obscure sadness of which she had not the secret herself. There was in her whole person the stupor of a life ended but never commenced.

My greatness does not extend to this shelf.