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

A string of excited, fugitive, miscellaneous pleasures is not happiness; happiness resides in imaginative reflection and judgment, when the picture of one's life, or of human life, as it truly has been or is, satisfies the will, and is gladly accepted.

Is it indeed from the experience of beauty and happiness, from the occasional harmony between our nature and our environment, that we draw our conception of the divine life.

Philosophy may describe unreasoning, as it may describe force; it cannot hope to refute them.

There is a kind of courtesy in skepticism. It would be an offense against polite conventions to press our doubts too far.

The wisest mind has something yet to learn.

The world is so ordered that we must, in a material sense, lose everything we have and love, one thing after another, until we ourselves close our eyes.