Men are not angered by mere misfortune but by misfortune conceived as injury. And the sense of injury depends on the feeling that a legitimate claim has been denied.

The more often he feels without acting, the less he will be able ever to act, and, in the long run, the less he will be able to feel.

She's the sort of woman who lives for others - you can tell the others by their hunted expression.

For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity.

All mortals tend to turn into the thing they are pretending to be. This is elementary

If I, being what I am, can consider that I am in some sense a Christian, why should the different vices of those people in the next pew prove that their religion is mere hypocrisy and convention?

A moderated religion is as good for us as no religion at all—and more amusing.

Music. A meaningless acceleration in the rhythm of celestial experience.

The Future is, of all things, the thing least like eternity. It is the most temporal part of time--for the Past is frozen and no longer flows, and the Present is all lit up with eternal rays.

I do not expect old heads on young shoulders.

The claim to equality, outside of the strictly political field, is made only by those who feel themselves to be in some way inferior.

Love is the opposite of fear. It is free and transcends all space and time. Love is infinite.

One measure of a civilization, in fact, is the percentage of misfits in its society.

To determine not to think of it was but to think of it still, to suffer from it still.

The visit, like all visits home for a long time now, has been an obscure failure. When is it we cease to be able to go back, truly go back? What secret door is it that closes?

Saying the words that come from knowledge is no sign of having it.

You shall find out how salt is the taste of another man's bread, and how hard is the way up and down another man's stairs.

PRESENTIMENT is that long shadow on the lawn Indicative that suns go down; The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.

So how did he look at me?" "Like it was his birthday and you were the cake.

If you love me as you say you do,' she whispered, 'make it so that I am at peace.

Memory is a swindler, a forger emeritus of facts and figures.