To caress the serpent that devours us, until it has eaten away our heart.
For the poetry of a text is largely produced by the fact that the wild chaos of the universe is therein, at one and the same time, expressed and controlled by a rhythm. In Candide both characteristics exist.
Do you think, said Candide, that mankind always massacred one another as they do now? Were they always guilty of lies, fraud, treachery, ingratitude, inconstancy, envy, ambition, and cruelty? Were they always thieves, fools, cowards, gluttons, drunkards, misers, calumniators, debauchees, fanatics, and hypocrites?
We must distinguish between speaking to deceive and being silent to be reserved.
It is far better to be silent than merely to increase the quantity of bad books.
My dear miss," said Candide, "when one is in love, jealous, and has been whipped by the Inquisition, one becomes a stranger to oneself.