Behind the thought of Pascal, we see the attitude of that firm and passionless intellect. This it is, more than all else, which makes him so imposing.
Fénelon knows how to pray, but he does not know how to instruct We have in him a philosopher almost divine, and a theologian almost without knowledge.
M. de Bausset says of Fénelon: “He loved men better than he knew them.” Charmingly spoken; it is impossible to praise more wittily what one blames, or better to praise in the very act of blaming.
The plan of Massillon’s sermons is insignificant, but their bas-reliefs are superb.
Montesquieu appears to teach the art of making empires; you seem to yourself to be learning it when you listen to him, and every time you read him you are tempted to go to work and construct one.
Voltaire’s judgment was correct, his imagination rich, his intellect agile, his taste lively, and his moral sense ruined.
It is impossible for Voltaire to satisfy, and impossible for him not to please.
In Voltaire, as in the monkey, the movements are charming and the features hideous. One always sees in him, at the end of a clever hand, an ugly face.
That oratorical “authority” [weight of personal character] of which the ancients speak—you feel it in Bossuet more than in any other man; after him, in Pascal, in La Bruyère, in J. J. Rousseau even, but never in Voltaire.