Creativity is so delicate a flower that praise tends to make it bloom, while discouragement often nips it in the bud.

It seems to be the fate of man to seek all his consolations in futurity. The time present is seldom able to fill desire or imagination with immediate enjoyment, and we are forced to supply its deficiencies by recollection or anticipation.

Neither have they hearts to stay, nor wit enough to run away.

The only absolute morality is absolute stagnation.

Justice is my being allowed to do whatever I like. Injustice is whatever prevents my doing so.

Flying. Whatever any other organism has been able to do man should surely be able to do also, though he may go a different way about it.

Though analogy is often misleading, it is the least misleading thing we have.