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

Love, whether sexual, parental, or fraternal, is essentially sacrificial, and prompts a man to give his life for his friends.

Sometimes we have to change the truth in order to remember it.

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament.

Boston was a moral and intellectual nursery, always busy applying first principles to trifles.

The truth is cruel, but it can be loved, and it makes free those who have loved it.

Depression is rage spread thin.