The world leaves no track in space, and the greatest action of man no mark in the vast idea.

Greatness once and forever has down with opinion.

I can reason down or deny everything, except this perpetual Belly: feed he must and will, and I cannot make him respectable.

Our condition as men is risky and ticklish enough. One can not be sure of himself and his fortune an hour, but he may be whisked off into some pitiable or ridiculous plight.

To have played and laughed with enthusiasm, and sung with exultation - this to to have succeeded.

I--this thought which is called I--is the mould into which the world is poured like melted wax.

Life consists in what a man is thinking of all day.