Call not that man wretched, who whatever ills he suffers, has a child to love.

How frighteningly few are the persons whose death would spoil our appetite and make the world seem empty.

The Greeks invented logic but were not fooled by it.

The Paleolithic hunters who painted the unsurpassed animal murals on the ceiling of the cave at Altamira had only rudimentary tools. Art is older than production for use, and play older than work. Man was shaped less by what he had to do than by what he did in playful moments. It is the child in man that is the source of his uniqueness and creativeness, and the playground is the optimal milieu for the unfolding of his capacities.

The purpose of philosophers is to show people what is right under their noses.

We do not really feel grateful toward those who make our dreams come true; they ruin our dreams.

The end comes when we no longer talk with ourselves. It is the end of genuine thinking and the beginning of the final loneliness. The remarkable thing is that the cessation of the inner dialogue marks also the end of our concern with the world around us. It is as if we noted the world and think about it only when we have to report it to ourselves.