It's usually the selfish people who are loved the most. They do what you deny yourself, and you love them for it. You give them your heart.

The late philosopher Morris R. Cohen of CCNY was asked by a student in the metaphysics course, Professor Cohen, how do I know that I exist? The keen old prof replied, And who is asking?

I labor, I spend, I strive, I design, I love, I cling, I uphold, I give way, I envy, I long, I scorn, I die, I hide, I want. Faster, much faster than any man could make the tally.

A human soul devoid of longing was a soul deformed, deprived of its highest good, sick unto death.

People don't realize how much they are in the grip of ideas. We live among ideas much more than we live in nature.

Each man has his own batch of poems.

When the striving ceases, there is life waiting as a gift.