A mind that has come to the stillness of wisdom shall know being, shall know what it is to love. Love is neither personal nor impersonal. Love is love, not to be defined or described by the mind as exclusive or inclusive. Love is its own eternity; it is the real, the supreme, the immeasurable.

What’s the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when anthrax bombs are popping all around you?

From their experience or from the recorded experience of others (history), men learn only what their passions and their metaphysical prejudices allow them to learn.

The essay is a literary device for saying almost everything about almost anything

Cynical realism is the intelligent man's best excuse for doing nothing in an intolerable situation.

Ending is better than mending.

The horror no less than the charm of real life consists precisely in the recurrent actualization of the inconceivable