Triumph cannot help being cruel.

We live at a time when man believes himself fabulously capable of creation, but he does not know what to create.

Effort is only effort when it begins to hurt.

The heart of man does not tolerate an absence of the excellent and supreme.

Better beware of notions like genius and inspiration; they are a sort of magic wand and should be used sparingly by anybody who wants to see things clearly.

The good is, like nature, an immense landscape in which man advances through centuries of exploration.

We have need of history in its entirety, not to fall back into it, but to see if we can escape from it.

The truth is that no horizon is especially interesting by itself, by virtue of its peculiar content, and that any horizon, wide or narrow, brilliant or dull, varied or monotonous, may possess an interest of its own which merely requires a vital adjustment to be discovered.

Life is the external text, the burning bush by the edge of the path from which God speaks.

Commonplaces are the tramways of intellectual transportation.