History is mostly guessing; the rest is prejudice.

The love we have in our youth is superficial compared to the love that an old man has for his old wife.

History repeats itself in the large because human nature changes with geological leisureliness.

We teach more by what we are than by what we teach.

Hunting is now to most of us a game, whose relish seems based upon some mystic remembrance, in the blood, of ancient days when to hunter as well as hunted it was a matter of life and death.

In the end, nothing is lost. Every event, for good or evil, has effects forever.

A history of civilization shares the presumptuousness of every philosophical enterprise: it offers the ridiculous spectacle of a fragment expounding the whole. Like philosophy, such a venture has no rational excuse, and is at best but a brave stupidity; but let us hope that, like philosophy, it will always lure some rash spirits into its fatal depths.