A mathematician is only perfect insofar as he is a perfect man, sensitive to the beauty of truth.

The highest happiness, the purest joys of life, wear out at last.

A human being needs only a small plot of ground on which to be happy, and even less to lie beneath.

All our knowledge is symbolic.

Once I blazed across the sky, Leaving trails of flame; I fell to earth, and here I lie - Who'll help me up again? -A Shooting Star

Are we not also married to conscience which we would love to get rid of often enough since it is more bothersome than a man or a woman ever could become?

In politics people throw themselves, as on a sickbed, from one side to the other in the belief they will lie more comfortably.