To let the brain work without sufficient material is like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces.
Arthur Conan DoyleThe chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness.
Arthur Conan DoyleHow sweet the morning air is! See how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces of Nature!
Arthur Conan Doyle