Precisely the least, the softest, lightest, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a flash, a moment - a little makes the way of the best happiness.

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.

We grow hostile to many an artist or writer, not because we finally come to see he has deceived us, but because he thought no subtler means were required to ensnare us.

The familiarity of superiors embitters one, because it may not be returned.

One does well to put on gloves when reading the New Testament. The proximity of so much uncleanliness almost forces one to do this.

When we have to change our mind about a person, we hold the inconvenience he causes us very much against him.

I despise mystics, they fancy themselves so deep, when they aren't even superficial.