We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.

One day everything will be well, that is our hope. Everything's fine today, that is our illusion.

Even in those cities which seem to enjoy the blessings of peace, and where the arts florish, the inhabitants are devoured by envy, cares and anxieties, which are greater plagues than any expirienced in a town when it is under siege.

He who seeks truth should be of no country.

We all look for happiness, but without knowing where to find it: like drunkards who look for their house, knowing dimly that they have one.

To the wicked, everything serves as pretext.

Where some states possess an army, the Prussian Army possesses a state.