Each man enters into God so much as God enters into him.
Mother of Marvels, mysterious and tender Nature, why do we not live more in thee.
Time wasted is a theft from God.
From every spot on earth we are equally near heaven and the infinite.
The masses are the material of democracy, but its form-that is to say, the laws which express the general reason, justice, and utility-can only be rightly shaped by wisdom, which is by no means a universal property.
Sympathy is the first condition of criticism.
When everything is in its right place within us, we ourselves are in balance with the whole work of God.
The unfinished is nothing.
Composition is a process of combination, in which thought puts together complementary truths, and talent fuses into harmony the most contrary qualities of style. So that there is no composition without effort, without pain even, as in all bringing forth. The reward is the giving birth to something living--something, that is to say, which, by a kind of magic, makes a living unity out of such opposed attributes as orderliness and spontaneity, thought and imagination, solidity and charm.
Every situation is an equilibrium of forces; every life is a struggle between opposing forces working within the limits of a certain equilibrium
Knowledge, love, power-there is the complete life.
Unconsciousness, spontaneity, instinct ... hold us to the earth and dictate the relatively good and useful.
Philosophy means the complete liberty of the mind.
To repel one's cross is to make it heavier.
Happiness has no limits, because God has neither bottom nor bounds, and because happiness is nothing but the conquest of God through love.
Great men are the real men, in them nature has succeeded.
A microscopic phantom of the universe; this is all that we are able to be.
Are we not all shipwrecked,...condemned to death?... However impatient our neighbours make us, however much indignation our race arouses, we are all bound together, and the companions of a chain-gang have everything to lose by mutual insults.
I find myself regarding existence as though from beyond the tomb, from another world; all is strange to me; I am, as it were, outside my own body and individuality; I am depersonalized, detached, cut adrift. Is this madness?
To know where one is going and what one wishes - this is order ... to organize one's life to distribute one's time ... all this belong to and is included in the word order.
Sadness takes up the pen more readily than joy.
To be always ready a man must be able to cut a knot, for everything cannot be untied.
About Jesus we must believe no one but himself.
Criticism is above all a gift, an intuition, a matter of tact and flair; it cannot be taught or demonstrated--it is an art.
Nothing is more characteristic of a man than the manner in which he behaves toward fools.
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