Everything great and intelligent is in the minority
Ill-humor is nothing more than an inward feeling of our own want of merit, a dissatisfaction with ourselves which is always united with an envy that foolish vanity excites.
He who cannot draw on three thousand years is living from hand to mouth.
Our senses don't deceive us: our judgment does
I laugh at my heart, and do its will
The finished man, you know, is difficult to please; a growing mind will ever show you gratitude. --Faust 1, lines 182-3