Frankly, it's good enough to lock up in a drawer.
Racism? But isn't it only a form of misanthropy?
Misanthropy is a suit of armor lined with thorns.
Landscape painting is the obvious resource of misanthropy.
Knowledge subverts love: in proportion as we penetrate our secrets, we come to loathe our kind, precisely because they resemble us.
The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.
He loved the people just as much as he feared and detested persons.
The opinions of the misanthropical rest upon this very partial basis, that they adopt the bad faith of a few as evidence of the worthlessness of all.