As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightning-conductor of his existence.

My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.

I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.

But I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.

Lick your neighbor as yourself!