The Self has turned out to mean so many things, to mean them so ambiguously, and to be so wavering in its application, that we do not feel encouraged.

The one self- knowledge worth having is to know one's own mind.

But when one has ceased to have them, too often one cannot.

The man who has ceased to fear has ceased to care.

There are persons who, when they cease to shock us, cease to interest us.

Our live experiences, fixed in aphorisms, stiffen into cold epigrams. Our heart's blood, as we write it, turns to mere dull ink.

Metaphysics is the finding of bad reasons for what we believe on instinct.