Don't ask me who's influenced me. A lion is made up of the lambs he's digested, and I've been reading all my life.
Charles De GaulleRead
I always thought I was Jeanne d'Arc and Bonaparte. How little one knows oneself.
Interpretation
Self-perception can often be misleading, revealing how little we truly understand ourselves.
In this quote, Charles De Gaulle reflects on the complexity of self-identity and the limitations of personal self-awareness. He suggests that individuals often hold grandiose or heroic views of themselves, akin to historical figures like Jeanne d'Arc and Bonaparte, yet in reality, we might not fully comprehend our true nature or capabilities.
In practice
During a motivational speech about personal growth.
Don't ask me who's influenced me. A lion is made up of the lambs he's digested, and I've been reading all my life.
Today we are crushed by the sheer weight of the mechanized forces hurled against us, but we can still look to the future in which even greater mechanized forces will bring us victory. Therein lies the destiny of the world.
The perfection preached in the gospels never yet built an empire. Every man of action has a strong dose of egotism, pride, hardness, and cunning.
One must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day was; one cannot judge life until death.
Soyons fermes, purs et fidèles ; au bout de nos peines, il y a la plus grande gloire du monde, celle des hommes qui n'ont pas cédé. [Let us be firm, pure and faithful; at the end of our sorrow, there is the greatest glory of the world, that of the men who did not give in.]
A true leader always keeps an element of surprise up his sleeve, which others cannot grasp but which keeps his public excited and breathless.
One can say of language that it is potentially the only human home, the only dwelling place that cannot be hostile to man.
Sure, some journalists use anonymous sources just because they’re lazy, and I think editors ought to insist on more precise identification even if they remain anonymous.
I will tell you what is my overriding perception of the last twenty years: that we are a civilization careening toward a succession of anticlimaxes – toward an infinity of unsatisfying, and disagreeable endings.
Already, he was dreaming of a refined solitude, a comfortable desert, a motionless ark in which to seek refuge from the unending deluge of human stupidity.
American individualism, much celebrated and cherished, has developed without its essential corrective, which is belonging.
Our books will bear witness for or against us, our books reflect who we are and who we have been, our books hold the share of pages granted to us from the Book of Life. By the books we call ours we will be judged
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