The Strongest Have Their Moments Of Fatigue.

Out Of Damp And Gloomy Days, Out Of Solitude, Out Of Loveless Words Directed At Us, Conclusions Grow Up In Us Like Fungus: One Morning They Are There, We Know Not How, And They Gaze Upon Us, Morose And Gray. Woe To The Thinker Who Is Not The Gardener But Only The Soil Of The Plants That Grow In Him.

The Misunderstanding Of Passion And Reason, As If The Latter Were An Independent Entity And Not Rather A System Of Relations Between Various Passions And Desires; And As If Every Passion Did Not Possess Its Quantum Of Reason.

Loneliness Is One Thing, Solitude Another.

It Is A Terrible Thought, To Contemplate That An Immense Number Of Mediocre Thinkers Are Occupied With Really Influential Matters.

When We Think Of All The Things We Want To Do With Our Other Half The Answer Should Be Simple; We Should Want To Do Absolutely Everything With Them. We Should Want To Experience Everything, Feel Everything, See Everything With No One But Them By Our Sides. When We Look Back On Our Lives It's Not The Things We Did Do With Them That We'll Regret, It's The Things We Didn't Do.