Human vitality is so exuberant that in the sorriest desert it still finds a pretext for glowing and trembling.

Life is the external text, the burning bush by the edge of the path from which God speaks.

Thought is not a gift to man but a laborious, precarious and volatile acquisition.

Effort is only effort when it begins to hurt.

The tapestry of history that seems so full of tragedy when viewed from the front has countless comic scenes woven into its reverse side. In truth, tragedy and comedy are the twin masks of history - its mass appeal.

An idea is a putting truth in check-mate.

Commonplaces are the tramways of intellectual transportation.