One of the most time-consuming things is to have an enemy.

No man has any natural authority over his fellow man.

Nationalism is an infantile disease, the measles of mankind.

Children are all foreigners. We treat them as such.

Let the French but have England, and they won’t want to conquer it.

Such then is the human state, that to wish greatness for one’s country is to wish harm to one’s neighbors.

“Abroad,” that large home of ruined reputations.

France has neither winter, summer, nor morals—apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them.

Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.

Africa has her mysteries, and even a wise man cannot understand them. But a wise man respects them.

The almost insoluble task is to let neither the power of others, nor our own powerlessness, stupefy us.