All things are only transitory.

We are our own devils; we drive ourselves out of our Edens.

I am a part of the part that at first was all, part of the darkness that gave birth to the light, that supercilious light which now disputes with Mother Night her ancient rank and space, and yet cannot succeed; no matter how it struggles, it sticks to matter and can't get free. Light flows from substance, makes it beautiful.

Let us seek to fathom those things that are fathomable and reserve those things which are unfathomable for reverence in quietude.

He is a man whom it is impossible to please, because he is never pleased with himself.

Would you require a wretched being, whose life is slowly wasting under a lingering disease, to despatch himself at once by the stroke of a dagger? Does not the very disorder which consumes his strength deprive him of the courage to effect his deliverance?

Man believes himself always greater than he is, and is esteemed less than he is worth.