We seek true individuality and the true individuals. But we find them not. For lo, we mortals see what our poor eyes can see; and they, the true individuals, - they belong not to this world of our merely human sense and thought.

Thinking is like loving and dying. Each of us must do it for himself.

So, as one sees, I by no means deprive my world of stubborn reality, if I merely call it a world of ideas.

Life involves passions, faiths, doubts, and courage.

I never felt a feeling that I knew or could know to be unlike the feelings of other people. I never consciously thought, except after patterns that the world or my fellows set for me.

Memory and hope constantly incite us to the extensions of the self which play so large a part in our daily life.

This preparatory sort of idealism is the one that, as I just suggested, Berkeley made prominent, and, after a fashion familiar. I must state it in my own way, although one in vain seeks to attain novelty in illustrating so frequently described a view.