Is not life in itself a thing of goodness, irrespective of whether the course it takes for us can be called a 'happy' one?

The books and magazines streamed in. He could buy them all, they piled up around him and even while he read, the number of those still to be read disturbed him. … they stood in rows, weighing down his life like a possession which he did not succeed in subordinating to his personality.

He thought what a fine thing it was that people made music all over the world, even in the strangest settings – probably even on polar expeditions.

Only love, and not reason, yields kind thoughts.

He took in the squeaky music, the vulgar and pining melodies, because passion immobilizes good taste and seriously considers what soberly would be thought of as funny and to be resented.

Distance in a straight line has no mystery. The mystery is in the sphere.

People's behavior makes sense if you think about it in terms of their goals, needs, and motives.