Hold on; hold fast; hold out. Patience is genius.— Georges-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon
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He [man] abuses equally other animals and his own species, the rest of whom live in famine, languish in misery, and work only to satisfy the immoderate appetite and the still more insatiable vanity of this human being who, destroying others by want, destroys himself by excess.
Writing well is at one and the same time good thinking, good feeling, and good expression; it is having wit, soul, and taste, all together.
Only those works which are well-written will pass to posterity: the amount of knowledge, the uniqueness of the facts, even the novelty of the discoveries are no guarantees of immortality ... These things are exterior to a man but style is the man himself.
Only well-written works will descend to posterity.
Fulness of knowledge, interesting facts, even useful inventions, are no pledge of immortality, for they may be employed by more skilful hands; they are outside the man; the style is the man himself.
Time is the great workman of Nature.
Genius is only a greater aptitude for patience.
The cat is the only animal which accepts the comforts but rejects the bondage of domesticity.
One can descend by imperceptible degree from the most perfect creature to the most shapeless matter, from the best-organised animal to the roughest mineral.
The style is the man himself.
We can only penetrate the rind of the earth.
Although the works of the Creator may be in themselves all equally perfect, the animal is, as I see it, the most complete work of nature, and man is her masterpiece.
The human mind cannot create anything.
It produces nothing until having been fertilized by experience and meditation; its acquisitions are the germs of its production.
Let us suppose, that the Old and New worlds were formerly but one continent, and that, by a violent earthquake, the ancient Atalantis [sic] of Plato was sunk ... The sea would necessarily rush in from all quarters, and form what is now called the Atlantic ocean.
In general, the more one augments the number of divisions of the productions of nature, the more one approaches the truth, since in nature only individuals exist, while genera, orders, and classes only exist in our imagination.
Genius is simply patience carried to the extreme.
There is nothing good in love but the physical part.
I am convinced, by repeated observation, that marbles, lime-stones, chalks, marls, clays, sand, and almost all terrestrial substances, wherever situated, are full of shells and other spoils of the ocean.
Those who write as they speak, even though they speak well, write badly.
Style supposes the reunion and the exercise of all the intellectual faculties. The style is the man.
All the work of the crystallographers serves only to demonstrate that there is only variety everywhere where they suppose uniformity ... that in nature there is nothing absolute, nothing perfectly regular.
Let us investigate more closely this property common to animal and plant, this power of producing its likeness, this chain of successive existences of individuals, which constitutes the real existence of the species.
Man thinks, and at once becomes the master of the beings that do not think.
To write well is to think well, to feel well, and to render well;
it is to possess at once intellect, soul, and taste.
Style is the essence of man
Rassemblons des faits pour nous donner des idées.
Let us gather facts in order to get ourselves thinking.
In Ireland, there are the same fossils, the same shells and the same sea bodies, as appear in America, and some of them are found in no other part of Europe.
The discoveries that one can make with the microscope amount to very little, for one sees with the mind's eye and without the microscope the real existence of all these little beings.
To be and to think are one and the same for us.
The dog has no ambition, no self-interest, no desire for vengeance, no fear other than that of displeasing.
The sublime can only be found in the great subjects.
Poetry, history and philosophy all have the same object, and a very great object-Man and Nature. Philosophy describes and depicts Nature. Poetry paints and embellishes it. It also paints men, it aggrandizes them, it exaggerates them, it creates heroes and gods. History only depicts man, and paints him such as he is.
There are several kinds of truths, and it is customary to place in the first order mathematical truths, which are, however, only truths of definition. These definitions rest upon simple, but abstract, suppositions, and all truths in this category are only constructed, but abstract, consequences of these definitions ... Physical truths, to the contrary, are in no way arbitrary, and do not depend on us.