I revolted from sentimentality, less because it was false than because it was cruel.

But youth isn't happy. Youth is sadder than age.

And where was happiness if it sprung not from the soil? Where contentment if it dwelt not near to Nature?

What was time itself but the bloom, the sheath enfolding experience? Within time, and with time alone, there was life - the gleam, the quiver, the heartbeat, the immeasurable joy and anguish of being.

Borrowed illusions are better than none.

A doctrine of endurance flows easily from our lips when we are enduring jam and our neighbors dry bread, and it is still possible for us to become resigned to the afflictions of our brother.

Given two tempers and the time, the ordinary marriage produces anarchy.