The gilded sheath of pity sometimes covers the dagger of envy.

We are, all of us, growing volcanoes that approach the hour of their eruption, but how near or distant that is, nobody knows- not even God.

Objection, evasion, joyous distrust, and love of irony are signs of health; everything absolute belongs to pathology.

We do not hate as long as we still attach a lesser value, but only when we attach an equal or a greater value.

Moderation sees itself as beautiful; it is unaware that in the eye of the immoderate it appears black and sober and consequently ugly-looking.

I have learned to walk: since then I have run. I have learned to fly: since then I do not have to be pushed in order to move. Now I am nimble, now I fly, now I see myself under myself, now a god dances within me.

It is doubtful whether anyone who has travelled widely has found anywhere in the world regions more ugly than in the human face.