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.
O heart! love is thy bane and thy antidote.
It is love, not faith, that moves mountains.
The brain is a tool that gets rusty without constant, albeit moderate, exercise.
The capacity for passion is both cruel and divine.
Let us accept truth, even when it surprises us and alters our views.