Of what use is the memory of facts, if not to serve as an example of good or of evil?
Of what use were the arts if they were only the reproduction and the imitation of life?
Fainthearted animals move about in herds. The lion walks alone in the desert. Let the poet always walk thus.
Only silence is great; all else is weakness.
On the day when man told the story of his life to man, history was born.
History is a novel for which the people is the author.
Greatness is the dream of youth realized in old age.
The first among mankind will always be those who make something imperishable out of a sheet of paper, a canvas, a piece of marble, or a few sounds
I love the majesty of human suffering.
What is a great life? It is the dreams of youth realised in old age.
A calm despair, without angry convulsions or reproaches directed at heaven, is the essence of wisdom.
Just as we descend into our consciences to judge of actions which our minds can not weigh, can we not also search in ourselves for the feeling which gives birth to forms of thought, always vague and cloudy?
To hold power has always meant to manipulate idiots and circumstances; and those circumstances and those idiots, tossed together, bring about those coincidences to which even the greatest men confess they owe most of their fame
No writer, no matter how gifted, immortalizes himself unless he has crystallized into expressive and original phrase the eternal sentiments and yearnings of the human heart.
Art ought never to be considered except in its relations with its ideal beauty.
Silence alone is great; all else is feebleness . . . Perform with all your heart your long and heavy task. . . . Then as do I, say naught, but suffer and die.
Do you know that charming part of our country which has been called the garden of France - that spot where, amid verdant plains watered by wide streams, one inhales the purest air of heaven?
Invisible is real. Souls have their own world.
Perform your long and heavy task with energy, treading the path to which Fate has been pleased to call you.
What is a great life but a youthful intention carried out in maturity?
Poetry is the disease of the brain.
Hope is the biggest of our foolish things.
Oh, I have a habit of letting myself be lectured on the things I know best. I like to see if they are understood in the same way I understand; for there are many ways of knowing the same thing
Doubt is the freedom of thought. Any claim to truth can be doubted.
The study of social progress is to-day not less needed in literature than is the analysis of the human heart.
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