Just as we descend into our consciences to judge of actions which our minds can not weigh, can we not also search in ourselves for the feeling which gives birth to forms of thought, always vague and cloudy?

Do you not see with your own eyes the chrysalis fact assume by degrees the wings of fiction?

Greatness is the dream of youth realized in old age.

The human mind, I believe, cares for the True only in the general character of an epoch.

Silence alone is great; all else is feebleness . . . Perform with all your heart your long and heavy task. . . . Then as do I, say naught, but suffer and die.

The true God, the mighty God, is the God of ideas.

Every man has seen the wall that limits his mind.