François-Auguste-René de Chateaubriand

But instead of this peace which I dared to expect, what anguish has weighed down my days! To become the perpetual plaything of fortune, dashed against every strand, long exiled from my country, and finding on my return only a cabin in ruins and friends the grave — such was to be the fate of Chactas.

Aristocracy has three successive stages: the age of superiority, the age of privilege, and the age of vanity. Once through with the first, it degenerates into the second, and dies out in the third.

I have borne the musket of a soldier, the traveller’s cane, and the pilgrim’s staff: as a sailor my fate has been as inconstant as the wind: a kingfisher, I have made my nest among the waves. I have been party to peace and war: I have signed treaties, protocols, and along the way published numerous works. I have been made privy to party secrets, of court and state: I have viewed closely the rarest disasters, the greatest good fortune, the highest reputations. I have been present at sieges, congresses, conclaves, at the restoration and demolition of thrones. I have made history, and been able to write it. ... Within and alongside my age, perhaps without wishing or seeking to, I have exerted upon it a triple influence, religious, political and literary.

Il y a des temps où l’on ne doit dépenser le mépris qu’avec économie, à cause du grand nombre de nécessiteux.

Si quelques heures font une grande différence dans le cœur de l’homme, faut-il s’en étonner ? Il n’y a qu’une minute de la vie à la mort.

When, in the silence of abjection, no sound remains except the rattle of the slave’s chain and the informer’s voice; when everyone trembles before the tyrant and it is as dangerous to curry his favor as to incur his disapproval, the historian appears, entrusted with the wrath of nations. Nero prospers in vain, for Tacitus has already been born within the Empire.

Soy enemigo de todos los libros, y si pudiera destruir los míos, no dejaría de hacerlo.

How small man is on this little atom where he dies! But how great his intelligence! He knows when the face of the stars must be masked in darkness, when the comets will return after thousands of years, he who lasts only an instant! A microscopic insect lost in a fold of the heavenly robe, the orbs cannot hide from him a single one of their movements in the depth of space. What destinies will those stars, new to us, light? Is their revelation bound up with some new phase of humanity? You will know, race to be born; I know not, and I am departing.

Die Revolution hätte mich mitgerissen, hätte sie nicht mit Verbrechen begonnen: beim Anblick des ersten Kopfes auf der Spitze einer Pike zuckte ich zurück. Niemals wird für mich der Mord Gegenstand der Bewunderung und ein Argument für die Freiheit sein.

A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play; his labour and his leisure; his mind and his body; his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing, and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always appears to be doing both.

The Parisian bourgeoisie laugh at the bourgeoisie from a small town; the Court nobility mock the provincial nobility: the famous man scorns one who is unknown, without reflecting that time serves equal justice on their pretensions, and that they are all equally ridiculous or tedious in the eyes of succeeding generations.

Achilles exists only through Homer. Take away the art of writing from this world, and you will probably take away its glory.

Silence envelops Washington’s deeds. He moved cautiously; one could say that he felt charged with the liberty of future generations and feared compromising it. It was not his own destiny that this new species of hero carried; it was the destiny of his country.

Tantôt ses bras tendus montraient le ciel propice ; tantôt il adorait humblement incliné... etc. la foule, précédée de la croix, et mêlant ses chants sacrés au murmure lointain des tempêtes, marche vers l'asile des morts. Là, la veuve pleure un époux, la jeune fille un amant, la mère un fils à la mamelle. Trois fois l'assemblée fait le tour des tombes ; trois fois l'eau lustrale est jetée. Alors le peuple saint se sépare, les brouillards de l'automne s'entrouvrent, et le soleil reparaît dans les cieux.

You are not superior just because you see the world in an odious light.