I am crazy about mysterious things.
To be too conscious is an illness. A real thorough going illness.
Life is what matters, life alone - the continuous, eternal process of discovering life - and not the discovery itself.
There is no explaining anything by reasoning and so it is useless to reason.
And if there's love, you can do without happiness too. Even with sorrow, life is sweet.
They have succeeded in accumulating a greater mass of objects, but the joy in the world has grown less.