Babies are unreasonable; they expect far too much of existence. Each new generation that comes takes one look at the world, thinks wildly, "Is this all they've done to it?" and bursts into tears.

Tender are a mother's dreams, But her babe's not what he seems. See him plotting in his mind To grow up some other kind.

As time goes on, new and remoter aspects of truth are discovered which can seldom be fitted into creeds that are changeless.

The artistic impulse seems not to wish to produce finished work. It certainly deserts us half-way, after the idea is born; and if we go on, it is labor.

If you don't go to other men's funerals, they won't go to yours.

Reason is the servant of instinct.

The worshipper of energy is too physically energetic to see that he cannot explore certain higher fields until he is still.