The suffering man ought really to consume his own smoke; there is no good in emitting smoke till you have made it into fire.
The world is a republic of mediocrities, and always was.
He who cannot withal keep his mind to himself cannot practice any considerable thing whatsoever.
In a certain sense all men are historians.
The Ideal is in thyself, the impediments too is in thyself.
Is man’s civilization only a wrappage, through which the savage nature of him can still burst, infernal as ever?