The blight of futility that lies in wait for men's speeches had fallen upon our conversation and made it a thing of empty sounds.

Books may be written in all sorts of places. Verbal inspiration may enter the berth of a mariner on board a ship frozen fast in a river in the middle of a town.

The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil water-way leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky--seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.

In order to move others deeply we must deliberately allow ourselves to be carried away beyond the bounds of our normal sensibility.

Action is consolatory. It is the enemy of thought and the friend of flattering illusions.

We can never cease to be ourselves.

Things and men have always a certain sense, a certain side by which they must be got hold of if one wants to obtain a solid grasp and a perfect command.