Reason is the shepherd trying to corral life's vast flock of wild irrationalities.

We hew and saw and plane facts to make them dovetail with our prejudices, so that they become mere ornaments with which to parade our objectivity.

To have lived long does not necessarily imply the gathering of much wisdom and experience. One who has pedaled twenty-five thousand miles on a stationary bicycle has not circled the globe. He or she has only garnered weariness.

History is the transformation of tumultuous conquerors into silent footnotes.

For having expressed an opinion, however far-fetched, we straightway become its slave, ready to die defending it, and even ready to believe it. And many continue to be martyrs to causes which have ceased to exist, their crowns rusting upon their heads as tin wreaths rust upon forgotten tombs.

Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits.

There are those whose sole claim to profundity is the discovery of exceptions to the rules.