My fate cannot be mastered; it can only be collaborated with and thereby, to some extent, directed. Nor am I the captain of my soul; I am only its noisiest passenger.

All conditioning aims at that: making people like their inescapable social destiny.

Men make use of their illnesses at least as much as they are made use of by them.

If human beings were shown what they're really like, they'd either kill one another as vermin, or hang themselves.

A man may have strong humanitarian and democratic principles, but if he happens to have been brought up as a bath-taking, shirt-changing lover of fresh air, he will have to overcome certain physical repugnance before he can bring himself to put those principles into practice.

But the quiet grows and grows. Beautifully and unbearably.

An ideal is merely the projection, on an enormously enlarged scale, of some aspect of personality.