The observations and encounters of a devotee of solitude and silence are at once less distinct and more penetrating than those of the sociable man; his thoughts are weightier, stranger, and never without a tinge of sadness. Images and perceptions which might otherwise be easily dispelled by a glance, a laugh, an exchange of comments, concern him unduly, they sink into mute depths, take on significance, become experiences, adventures, emotions.

No man remains quite what he was when he recognizes himself.

He probably was mediocre after all, though in a very honorable sense of that word.

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

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

War is only a cowardly escape from the problems of peace.

I never can understand how anyone can not smoke it deprives a man of the best part of life. With a good cigar in his mouth a man is perfectly safe, nothing can touch him, literally.