We are pantheists when we study nature, polytheists when we write poetry, monotheists in our morality.

The person born with a talent they are meant to use will find their greatest happiness in using it.

Does not man lack the force at the very point where he needs it most? And when he soars upward in joy, or sinks down in suffering, is not checked in both, is he not returned again to the dull, cold sphere of awareness, just when he was longing to lose himself in the fullness of the infinite.

The man of understanding finds everything laughable.

Presents at once? That's good. He is sure to succeed.

The dangers of life are infinite, and among them is safety.

As for solitude, I cannot understand how certain people seek to lay claim to intellectual stature, nobility of soul and strength of character, yet have not the slightest feeling for seclusion; for solitude, I maintain, when joined with a quiet contemplation of nature, a serene and conscious faith in creation and the Creator, and a few vexations from outside is the only school for a mind of lofty endowment.