History is a myth that men agree to believe.
Napoleon BonaparteRead
Do you wish to find out the really sublime? Repeat the Lord's Prayer.
Interpretation
The quote suggests that true depth and greatness can be found in simple, profound practices such as prayer.
Napoleon Bonaparte's quote highlights the importance of spiritual practices, specifically the Lord's Prayer, in reaching a higher understanding of the sublime. It suggests that engaging in such a profound act can lead to a deeper appreciation of life's mysteries and a connection to something greater than oneself.
In practice
To inspire reflection at a spiritual retreat.
History is a myth that men agree to believe.
One must indeed be ignorant of the methods of genius to suppose that it allows itself to be cramped by forms. Forms are for mediocrity, and it is fortunate that mediocrity can act only according to routine. Ability takes its flight unhindered.
One can lead a nation only by helping it see a bright outlook. A leader is a dealer in hope.
We must laugh at man to avoid crying for him.
Ten people who speak make more noise than ten thousand who are silent.
It is my wish that my ashes may repose on the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people, whom I have loved so well.
From Paul to Stalin, the popes who have chosen Caesar have prepared the way for Caesars who quickly learn to despise popes.
We should not forget that our tradition is one of protest and revolt, and it is stultifying to celebrate the rebels of the past ... while we silence the rebels of the present.
The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing. Maybe because the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged.
As wave is driven by wave_x000D_ And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,_x000D_ So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows,_x000D_ Always, for ever and new. What was before_x000D_ Is left behind; what never was is now;_x000D_ And every passing moment is renewed.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
An anxious unrest, a fierce craving desire for gain has taken possession of the commercial world, and in instances no longer rare the most precious and permanent goods of human life have been madly sacrificed in the interests of momentary enrichment.
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