In the Twentieth Century war will be dead, the scaffold will be dead, hatred will be dead, frontier boundaries will be dead, dogmas will be dead; man will live. He will possess something higher than all these-a great country, the whole earth, and a great hope, the whole heaven.

Love is like a tree: it grows by itself, roots itself deeply in our being and continues to flourish over a heart in ruin. The inexplicable fact is that the blinder it is, the more tenacious it is. It is never stronger than when it is completely unreasonable.

He would give all of his clothes to his servant, admonishing him NOT to return them until he had completed his day's work.

Genius: the superhuman in man.

Habit is the nursery of errors.

Sleep comes more easily than it returns.

On this point, the priest and the philosopher agree: We must die.