We do not know whether Hitler is going to found a new Islam. He is already on the way; he is like Muhammad.

Life has always seemed to me like a plant that lives on its rhizome. Its true life is invisible, hidden in the rhizome. The part that appears above ground lasts only a single summer. Then it withers away—an ephemeral apparition. When we think of the unending growth and decay of life and civilizations, we cannot escape the impression of absolute nullity. Yet I have never lost a sense of something that lives and endures underneath the eternal flux. What we see is the blossom, which passes. The rhizome remains.

To ask the right question is already half the solution of a problem.

We cannot change anything unless we accept it.

What you resist persist.

The self is our life's goal, for it is the completest expression of that fateful combination we call individuality.

We often dream about people from whom we receive a letter by the next post. I have ascertained on several occasions that at the moment when the dream occurred the letter was already lying in the post-office of the addressee.