It is a sign of creeping inner death when we can no longer praise the living.

Action can give us the feeling of being useful, but only words can give us a sense of weight and purpose.

It is by its promise of a sense of power that evil often attracts the weak.

When we are in competition with ourselves, and match our todays against our yesterdays, we derive encouragement from past misfortunes and blemishes. Moreover, the competition with ourselves leaves unimpaired our benevolence toward our fellow men.

The greatest weariness comes from work not done.

There is need for some kind of make-believe in order to face death unflinchingly. To our real, naked selves there is not a thing on earth or in heaven worth dying for.

To the old, the new is usually bad news.