We feel free when we escape - even if it be but from the frying pan to the fire.

It is thus with most of us; we are what other people say we are. We know ourselves chiefly by hearsay.

No one has a right to happiness.

Free men are aware of the imperfection inherent in human affairs, and they are willing to fight and die for that which is not perfect.

We can never have enough of that which we really do not want.

Actual creativeness is a matter of moments. One has to piece together the minute grains to make a lump. And it is so easy to miss the momentary flashes, it is like sluicing in placer mining. He who lets the flakes float by has nothing to show for his trouble.

People in a hurry cannot think, cannot grow, nor can they decay. They are preserved in a state of perpetual puerility.