Fanaticism consists of redoubling your effort when you have forgotten your aim.

Nature drives with a loose rein and vitality of any sort can blunder through many a predicament in which reason would despair.

Even under the most favorable circumstances no mortal can be asked to seize the truth in its wholeness or at its center.

Nothing so much enhances a good as to make sacrifices for it.

If artists and poets are unhappy, it is after all because happiness does not interest them.

Memory itself is an internal rumour; and when to this hearsay within the mind we add the falsified echoes that reach us from others, we have but a shifting and unseizable basis to build upon. The picture we frame of the past changes continually and grows every day less similar to the original experience which it purports to describe.

Oaths are the fossils of piety.