The Best Mannered People Make The Most

I Have Not The Hope Of Being Immortal, Because The Desire Of It Has Not Given Me That Vanity.

Wandering In A Vast Forest At Night, I Have Only A Faint Light To Guide Me. A Stranger Appears And Says To Me: 'my Friend, You Should Blow Out Your Candle In Order To Find Your Way More Clearly.' This Stranger Is A Theologian.

En Ge Ne Ral, Plus Un Peuple Est Civilise , Poli, Moins Ses Moeurs Sont Poe Tiques; Tout S'affaiblit En S'adoucissant. Ingeneral, Themore Civilized And Refinedthepeople, The Less Poetic Are Its Morals; Everything Weakens As It Mellows.

Poetry Must Have Something In It That Is Barbaric, Vast And Wild.

Gaiety Is A Quality Of Ordinary Men. Genius Always Presupposes Some Disorder In The Machine.