The misfortune of the man of color is having been enslaved. The misfortune and inhumanity of the white man are having killed man somewhere.

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

“Abroad,” that large home of ruined reputations.

Some of us would be greatly astonished to learn the reasons why others respect us.

There is no foreign land; it is the traveler only that is foreign.

Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your own thoughts, unguarded.

Once any group in society stands in a relatively deprived position in relation to other groups, it is genuinely deprived.

The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much.

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.

The noblest kind of retribution is not to become like your enemy.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

By nature, men are nearly alike; by practice, they get to be wide apart.