The few of understanding, vision rare, Who veiled not from the herd their hearts, but tried, Poor generous fools, to lay their feelings bare, Them have men always burnt and crucified.

Let's plunge ourselves into the roar of time, the whirl of accident; may pain and pleasure, success and failure, shift as they will -- it's only action that can make a man.

Everything that frees our spirit without giving us control of ourselves is ruinous.

Just as, out of habit, one consults a run-down clock as though it were still going, so too one may look at the face of a beautiful woman as though he still loved her.

One ought, everyday, to hear a song, read a fine poem, and, if possible, to speak a few reasonable words.

The greater part of all the mischief in the world arises from the fact that men do not sufficiently understand their own aims.

A man is really alive only when he delights in the good-will of others.