Life is a slate where all our sins are written; from time to time we rub the sponge of repentance over it so we can begin sinning again.

Happiness lies in the consciousness we have of it.

living for oneself is a bad thing. The keenest intellectual pleasure comes from being able to return to the self after being absent from it for a spell. But living all the time inside the self, that most tyrannical, demanding and capricious of companions - no, one shouldn't do it.

It is always the best friends who are neglected and ignored.

A man is not a wall, whose stones are crushed upon the road; or a pipe, whose fragments are thrown away at a street corner. The fragments of an intellect are always good.

Try to keep your soul young and quivering right up to old age, and to imagine right up to the brink of death that life is only beginning. I think that is the only way to keep adding to one's talent, and one's inner happiness.

Try to keep your soul young and quivering right up to old age.