All moral elevation consists first and foremost of being weaned from the momentary.

Intelligence has got the upper hand to such an extent that it transforms the real task into an unreal trick and reality into a play.

Knowledge is an attitude, a passion, actually an illicit attitude. For the compulsion to know is like dipsomania, erotomania, and homicidal mania, in producing a character that is out of balance. It is not at all that the scientist goes after the truth.

My scholarly expectation is then that I may succeed in becoming clever in philosophy in spite of my stupidity.

It is more blessed to give than to receive, but then it is also more blessed to be able to do without than to have to have.

Love believes all things and yet is never deceived.

How did I get into the world? Why was I not asked about it and why was I not informed of the rules and regulations but just thrust into the ranks as if I had been bought by a peddling shanghaier of human beings? How did I get involved in this big enterprise called actuality? Why should I be involved? Isn't it a matter of choice? And if I am compelled to be involved, where is the manager—I have something to say about this. Is there no manager? To whom shall I make my complaint?