The book, like the bicycle, is a perfect form.

It seems a long time since the morning mail could be called correspondence.

If it were possible to talk to the unborn, one could never explain to them how it feels to be alive, for life is washed in the speechless real.

You never step in the same river of thought twice, because neither you nor it are the same.

Convince yourself that you are working in clay, not marble, on paper not eternal bronze: Let that first sentence be as stupid as it wishes.

Boredom and fatigue are great historical forces.

The educated man had throughout the ages found a way to covert passionate activity into silent and motionless pleasure. He can sit still in a room and not perish.