It is not that the child lives in a world of imagination, but that the child within us survives and starts into life only at rare moments of recollection, which makes us believe, and it is not true, that, as children, we were imaginative?

The cadence of suffering has begun. Every evening at dusk, my heart constricts until night has come.

Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will. All the rest - thought, action - is just a pastime, mental or physical. What counts then, is to come to grips with reality. The rest can go.

We can all do good deeds, but very few of us can think good thoughts.

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends

Idleness makes hours pass slowly and years swiftly. Activity makes the hours short and the years long.

Will power is only the tensile strength of one's own disposition. One cannot increase it by a single ounce.