Approaching forty, I had a singular dream in which I almost grasped the meaning and understood the nature of what it is that wastes in wasted time.

The English language is like a broad river on whose bank a few patient anglers are sitting, while, higher up, the stream is being polluted by a string of refuse-barges tipping out their muck.

We are all serving a life sentence in the dungeon of the self.

No city should be too large for a man to walk out of in a morning.

We must select the illusion which appeals to our temperament, and embrace it with passion, if we want to be happy.

When young we are faithful to individuals, when older we grow loyal to situations and to types.

Hate is the consequence of fear; we fear something before we hate; a child who fears noises becomes the man who hates them.