Your destiny is that of a man, your vows those of a god.

Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty is ridiculous.

Where there is friendship, there is our natural soil.

Exaggeration, the inseparable companion of greatness.

Once the people begin to reason, all is lost

There are barbarians who seize this dog, who so prodigiously surpasses man in friendship, and nail him down to a table, and dissect him alive to show you the mezaraic veins... Answer me, Machinist, has Nature really arranged all the springs of feeling in this animal to the end that he might not feel? Has he nerves that he may be incapable of suffering?

History should be written as philosophy.