One should never criticize his own work except in a fresh and hopeful mood. The self-criticism of a tired mind is suicide.

We are ashamed to seem evasive in the presence of a straightforward man, cowardly in the presence of a brave one, gross in the eyes of a refined one, and so on. We always imagine, and in imagining share, the judgments of the other mind.

It is partly to avoid consciousness of greed that we prefer to associate with those who are at least as greedy as we ourselves. Those who consume much less are a reproach.

It is surely a matter of common observation that a man who knows no one thing intimately has no views worth hearing on things in general. The farmer philosophizes in terms of crops, soils, markets, and implements, the mechanic generalizes his experiences of wood and iron, the seaman reaches similar conclusions by his own special road; and if the scholar keeps pace with these it must be by an equally virile productivity.

To retire to the monastery, or the woods, or the sea, is to escape from the sharp suggestions that spur on ambition.

Our individual lives cannot, generally, be works of art unless the social order is also.

Could anything be more indicative of a slight but general insanity than the aspect of the crowd on the streets of Chicago?