To live a life which is a perpetual falsehood is to suffer unknown tortures.

There comes an hour when protest no longer suffices; after philosophy there must be action; the strong hand finishes what the idea has sketched.

Need is a low door which, when we must by stern necessity pass through, forces the greatest to bend down the most.

A bit of mould is a pleiad of flowers; a nebula is an ant-hill of stars.

Caution is the eldest child of wisdom.

Let us say it now: to be blind and to be loved, is indeed, upon this earth where nothing is complete, one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness.

The wise man does not grow old, but ripens.