So all that is said of the wise man by Stoic or Oriental or modern essayist, describes to each reader his own idea, describes his unattained but attainable self.

No facts are to me sacred; none are profane; I simply experiment, an endless seeker, with no past at my back.

A strenuous soul hates cheap success. It is the ardor of the assailant that makes the vigor of the defendant.

Sleep takes off the costume of circumstance, arms us with terrible freedom, so that every will rushes to deed. A skillful man reads his dreams for his self-knowledge; yet not the details, but the quality. What part does he play in them - a cheerful, manly part, or a poor, drivelling part? However monstrous and grotesque their apparitions, they have a substantial truth.

My joy in friends, those sacred people, is my consolation.

The problem of restoring to the world original and eternal beauty is solved by redemption of the soul.

Power is what they want, not candy-power to execute their design, power to give legs and feet, form and actuality to their thought; which, to a clear-sighted man, appears the end for which the universe exists, and all its resources might be well applied.