The itch is a mean, unconfessable, ridiculous malady; one can pity someone who is suffering ; someone who wants to scratch himself makes one laugh.

To be sure, theory is useful. But without warmth of heart and without love it bruises the very ones it claims to save.

I wished for nothing beyond her smile, and to walk with her thus, hand in hand, along a sun warmed, flower bordered path.

The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.

In other people's company I felt I was dull, gloomy, unwelcome, at once bored and boring.

Art that submits to orthodoxy, to even the soundest doctrines, but lacks imagination and deep self-expression is lost leaving only the craftsmanship.

Most often people seek in life occasions for persisting in their opinions rather than for educating themselves.