Oh, mankind, race of crocodiles! How well I recognize you down there, and how worthy you are of yourselves!

I have always had more dread of a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper than of a sword or pistol.

Be happy, noble heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt do hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like your good deeds.

He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.

When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.

Unfortunates, who ought to begin with God, do not have any hope in him till they have exhausted all other means of deliverance.

So much the worse for those who fear wine, for it is because they have some bad thoughts which they are afraid the liquor will extract from their hearts.

For the happy man prayer is only a jumble of words, until the day when sorrow comes to explain to him the sublime language by means of which he speaks to God.

To save a man and thereby to spare a father's agony and a mother's feelings is not to do a noble deed, it is but an act of humanity.

...remember that what has once been done may be done again.

Woman is sacred the woman one loves is holy.

But who is ever fair in an argument?

It is possible for you to be paid your worth and at the same time be passionate about what you do.

Learn today so that you may live tomorrow

If he is not the word of God, then God never spoke.

The professional study of economics has become ideological brainwashing. It is a defense of the excesses of the capitalist system.

Our tools are extensions of our purposes, and so we find it natural to make metaphorical attributions of intentionality to them; but I take it no philosophical ice is cut by such examples.

When someone anonymous tells me I'm fat, that's not a person to me. If they're not going to acknowledge me as a person, I'm certainly not going to acknowledge them as a person.

The young woman was crying, in the way that grownups cry, keeping it inside as much as they can, and hating it when it still pushes out at the edges, making them ugly and funny-looking on the way.

Art is long, and critics are the insects of a day.

If you are a professional, the speed with which you react to a potential problem separates the men from the boys.