There is no escape from mystery. It is the character of our being.

It is a great pity that every human being does not, at an early stage of his life, have to write a historical work. He would then realize that the human race is in quite a jam about truth.

... to lovers innumerable things do not matter.

art is at least in part a way of collecting information about the universe.

We think in youth that our bodies are identical to ourselves and have the same interests, but discover later in life that they are heartless companions who have been accidentally yoked with us, and who are as likely as not, in our extreme sickness or old age, to treat us with less mercy than we would have received at the hands of the worst bandits.

I don't believe that to understand is necessarily to pardon, but I feel that to understand makes one forget that one cannot pardon.

Did St. Francis preach to the birds? Whatever for? If he really liked birds he would have done better to preach to the cats.