There is no doubt that life is given us, not to be enjoyed, but to be overcome; to be got over.

Consciousness is the mere surface of our minds, of which, as of the earth, we do not know the inside, but only the crust.

A man finds himself, to his great astonishment, suddenly existing, after thousands and thousands of years of non-existence: he lives for a little while; and then, again, comes an equally long period when he must exist no more. The heart rebels against this, and feels that it cannot be true.

Boredom is just the reverse side of fascination: both depend on being outside rather than inside a situation, and one leads to the other.

A man may call to mind the face of his friend, but not his own. Here, then, is an initial difficulty in the way of applying the maxim, Know Thyself.

A happy life is impos­si­ble; the best that a man can attain is a heroic life.

Pride works _from within_; it is the direct appreciation of oneself. Vanity is the desire to arrive at this appreciation indirectly, from without.