Work, which makes a man free, and thought, which makes him worthy of freedom.
Life is the flower for which love is the honey.
Revolutions are not born of chance but of necessity.
You who suffer because you love, love still more. To die of love, is to live by it.
A language does not become fixed. The human intellect is always on the march, or, if you prefer, in movement, and languages with it.
There are no rules for felicity.
Caution is the eldest child of wisdom.
Toleration is the best religion.
There is no vacuum in the human heart. Certain demolitions take place, and it is well that they do, but on condition that they are followed by reconstructions.
Labor is life; thought is light.
...mothers are often fondest of the child which has caused them the greatest pain.
Intelligence is the wife, imagination is the mistress, memory is the servant.
Great blunders are often made, like large ropes, of a multitude of fibres.
Men hate those to whom they have to lie.
The paradise of the rich is made out of the hell of the poor.
To meditate is to labour; to think is to act.
Love is the salutation of the angel to the stars
What love commences can be finished by God alone.
We are reassured almost as foolishly as we are alarmed; human nature is so constituted.
Civilization survives on the constant discovery of amity and an equal supply of damnation.
Table talk and Lovers' talk equally elude the grasp; Lovers' talk is clouds, table talk is smoke.
To love or have loved is all-sufficing. We must not ask for more. No other pearl is to be found in the shadowfolds of life. To love is an accomplishment.
Each of our passions, even love, has a stomach that must not be overloaded. We must in everything write the word 'finis' in time; we must restrain ourselves, when it becomes urgent; we must draw the bolt on the appetite, play a fantasia on the violin, then break the strings with our own hand. The Wise man is he who knows when and how to stop.
What is the cat?" he exclaimed. "It is a corrective. God, having made the mouse, said, 'I've made a blunder.' And he made the cat. The cat is the erratum of the mouse. The mouse, plus the cat, Is the revised and corrected proof of creation.
I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.
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