We forget our guilt when we have confessed it to another, but the other does not usually forget it.

Young people love what is interesting and odd, no matter how true or false it is. More mature minds love what is interesting and odd about truth. Fully mature intellects, finally, love truth, even when it appears plain and simple, boring to the ordinary person; for they have noticed that truth tends to reveal its highest wisdom in the guise of simplicity.

Every man who has declared that some other man is an ass or a scoundrel, gets angry when the other man conclusively shows that the assertion was erroneous.

I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going, and an arrow of longing.

For the woman, the man is a means: the end is always the child.

How far is truth susceptible of embodiment? That is the question, that is the experiment.

Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders.