A Constitution (n.) like the Athenian republic suits only a state of a certain size — yet this yields no laws of measure.
A Constitution (n.) is not made but becomes — its progress is an alteration that goes unnoticed and does not have the form of an alteration.
A Constitution (n.) is essentially a system of mediation; without that middle term the utterance of the masses is always violent.
A Constitution (n.) has been so babbled about, insipidly most of all in Germany, that reason, nation, right and liberty have become empty sounds and men are ashamed to speak of one.
A Constitution (n.) cannot simply be implanted anywhere, as Napoleon learned in Spain: it needs people who identify with it, and that grows slowly in the depths of a people's spiritual life.
A Constitution (n.) appropriate to a nation and suitable for it is the one every nation has, because a constitution depends on the nation's self-consciousness.
A Constitution (n.) cannot be given a priori: Napoleon gave the Spanish one more rational than their own, and they rejected it as foreign — every nation has the constitution that suits it.
A Constitution (n.) cannot simply be designed like an engineering problem; that is a shallow Enlightenment idea — trying to leap beyond one's age in philosophy is like trying to jump over Rhodes.
A Constitution (n.) cannot meaningfully be asked "who shall frame it?" — the question presupposes a heap of atoms; a constitution, though begotten in time, must be thought of not as made but as self-begotten, divine and perpetual.