He thought about himself and to the young that always brings sadness.

In the beginning when the world was young there were a great many thoughts but no such thing as truth. Man made the truths himself and each truth was a composite of a great many vague thoughts. All about in the world were truths and they were all beautiful.

I feel that I am writing out of a full life. I am a rich man, rich in men known, in adventures had. I am rich with living.

The disease we all have and that we have to fight against all our lives is ... the disease of self.

What's wrong with this egotism? If a man doesn't delight in himself and the force in him and feel that he and it are wonders, how is all life to become important to him?

Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.

Friends you have, people you love, die and are born again.