A letter is an unannounced visit, the postman the agent of rude surprises. One ought to reserve an hour a week for receiving letters and afterwards take a bath.

Immature is the love of the youth, and immature his hatred of man and earth. His mind and the wings of his spirit are still tied down and heavy.

About sacrifice and the offering of sacrifices, sacrificial animals think quite differently from those who look on: but they have never been allowed to have their say.

Without passions you have no experience whatever.

The living is merely a type of what is dead, and a very rare type.

What really makes one indignant about suffering isn't the thing itself but the senselessness of it.

Our greatest experiences are our quietest moments.