Homer is one of the men of genius who solve that fine problem of art – the finest of all, perhaps – truly to depict humanity by the enlargement of man: that is, to generate the real in the ideal.
Phenomena intersect; to see but one is to see nothing.
There is no distress so complete but that even in the most critical moments the inexplicable sunrise of hope is seen in its depths.
We are in the hands of those gods, those monsters, those giants: our thoughts.
It’s often our best friends who make us fall.
Whom man kills, him God restoreth to life.
Monastic incarceration is castration.
Seeing so much poverty everywhere makes me think that God is not rich. He gives the appearance of it, but I suspect some financial difficulties.
Work, which makes a man free, and thought, which makes him worthy of freedom.
Go to sleep in peace. God is awake.
A thousand men enslaved fear one beast free.
The persistence of an all-absorbing idea is terrible.
Does not beauty confer a benefit upon us, even by the simple fact of being beautiful?
Love, thine is the future. Death, I use thee, but I hate thee. Citizens, there shall be in the future neither darkness nor thunderbolts; neither ferocious ignorance nor blood for blood.
Dark Error’s other hidden side is truth.
Hypocrisy is nothing, in fact, but a horrible hopefulness.
The nearer I approach the end, the plainer I hear around me the immortal symphonies of the worlds which invite me. It is marvelous, yet simple.
There are many lovely women, but no perfect ones.
Waterloo is a battle of the first rank won by a captain of the second.
For, to make deserts, God, who rules mankind, Begins with kings, and ends the work by wind.