This poem will never reach its destination. On Rousseau's Ode To Posterity
He who cannot shine by thought, seeks to bring himself into notice by a witticism.
History is nothing but a pack of tricks that we play upon the dead.
All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
Constant happiness is the philosopher's stone of the soul.
All men are born with a nose and ten fingers, but no one was born with a knowledge of God.