That which ought to be will be; that which ought to flow will flow; that which ought to fall will fall; that which ought to spring up will spring up; that which ought to grow will grow; but, obstruct these natural laws, confusion follows, disorder begins.
It is a melancholy fact that it was this disorder which was called order.
Tie up a vein, and sickness ensues; clog up a stream, and the water overflows; obstruct the future, and revolutions break out.
Persist in preserving among you, as if it were alive, the past, which is dead, and you produce an indescribable moral cholera; corruption spreads abroad, it is in the air, we breathe it; entire classes of society, the public officials, for instance, fall into decay.

Keep dead bodies in your houses, the plague will break out.
This policy inevitably makes blind those who adopt it.

Those men who dub themselves statesmen do not understand that they themselves have made, with their own hands and with untold labour, and with the sweat of their brows, the terrible events they deplore, and that the very catastrophes which fall upon them were by them constructed.

What would be said of a peasant who should build a dam from one side of a river to the other, in front of his cottage, and who, when he saw the river turned into a torrent, overflow, sweep away his wall, and carry off his roof, should exclaim: "Wicked river!"?
The statesmen of the past, those great builders of dams across streams, spend their time in exclaiming: "Wicked people!" Take away Polignac and the July ordinances, that is to say, the dam, and Charles X would have died at the Tuileries.

Reform in 1847 the electoral laws, that is to say once more, take away the dam, and Louis Philippe would have died on the throne.