Beware of long arguments and long beards.

One's friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human.

Memory itself is an internal rumour.

The profoundest affinities are those most readily felt, and though a thousand later considerations may overlay and override them, they remain a background and standard for all happiness. If we trace them out we succeed.

Love is at once more animal than friendship and more divine.

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

There is no greater stupidity or meanness than to take uniformity for an ideal.