Science and art have that in common that everyday things seem to them new and attractive.

We praise or blame as one or the other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgement.

He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers - and spirit itself will stink.

In the end we love our desire and not what it is that we desire.

Heaping glowing coals on another person's head is usually misunderstood and comes to nothing because the other person knows just as well that he is in the right and has also given some thought on his own part to heaping coals.

When somebody dies we usually need reasons for consolation, not so much to alleviate our pain as to excuse ourselves for so readily feeling consoled.

The rising and falling of the scales of pride and humility sustain the brooding mind as well as the alternations of desire and peace of the soul.