Experience is a mere whiff or rumble, produced by enormously complex and ill-deciphered causes of experience; and in the other direction, experience is a mere peephole through which glimpses come down to us of eternal things.

There is nothing to which men, while they have food and drink, cannot reconcile themselves.

The fly that prefers sweetness to a long life may drown in honey.

Nothing is really so poor and melancholy as art that is interested in itself and not in its subject.

Better not be a hero than work oneself up into heroism by shouting lies.

... even if Lucretius was wrong, and the soul is immortal, it is nevertheless steadily changing its interests and its possessions.Our lives are mortal if our soul is not; and the sentiment which reconciled Lucretius to death is as much needed if we are to face many deaths, as if we are to face only one.

The profoundest affinities are those most readily felt.