The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

I have believed the best of every man. And find that to believe is enough to make a bad man show him at his best, or even a good man swings his lantern higher.

It was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.

Because I helped to wind the clock, I come to hear it strike.

An intellectual hate is the worst.

Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.