In his lonely solitude, the solitary man feeds upon himself; in the thronging multitude, the many feed upon him. Now choose.

Underneath the reality in which we live and have our being, another altogether different reality lies concealed.

I notice that Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.

A bad conscience is easier to cope with than a bad reputation.

I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his head only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his down-going.

The problem of culture is seldom grasped correctly. The goal of a culture is not the greatest possible happiness of a people, noris it the unhindered development of all their talents; instead, culture shows itself in the correct proportion of these developments. Its aim points beyond earthly happiness: the production of great works is the aim of culture.

In a man devoted to knowledge, pity seems almost ridiculous, like delicate hands on a cyclops.