We want all our friends to tell us our bad qualities; it is only the particular ass that does so whom we can't tolerate.

The unrest which keeps the never stopping clock of metaphysics going is the thought that the nonexistence of this world is just as possible as its existence.

The stream of thought flows on; but most of its segments fall into the bottomless abyss of oblivion. Of some, no memory survives the instant of their passage. Of others, it is confined to a few moments, hours or days. Others, again, leave vestiges which are indestructible, and by means of which they may be recalled as long as life endures.

Most people, probably, are in doubt about certain matters ascribed to their past. They may have seen them, may have said them, done them, or they may only have dreamed or imagined they did so.

We are mere bundles of habits.

Metaphysics means nothing but an unusually obstinate effort to think clearly.

It seems the natural thing for us to listen whilst the Europeans talk.