We live together, we act on, and react to one another; but always, and in all circumstances, we are by ourselves.

Words form the thread on which we string our experiences.

Every significant artist is a metaphysician, a propounder of beauty-truths and form-theories.

A belief in hell and the knowledge that every ambition is doomed to frustration at the hands of a skeleton have never prevented the majority of human beings from behaving as though death were no more than an unfounded rumor.

The present moment is the only aperture through which the soul can pass out of time into eternity, through which grace can pass out of eternity into the soul, and through which love can pass from one soul in time to another soul in time.

Given a fair chance, human beings can govern themselves, and govern themselves better

... one reads, above all, to prevent oneself thinking.