I listened for the echo, and I heard only praise —

I hate you most because you attract, but are not strong enough to pull me to you.

Illness is a clumsy attempt to arrive at health: we must come to nature's aid with intellect.

In the last analysis, even the best man is evil: in the last analysis, even the best woman is bad.

It is the music in our conscience, the dance in our spirit, to which Puritan litanies, moral sermons, and goody goodness won’t chime.

We are all afraid of the truth.

How much truth does a spirit endure, how much truth does it dare?