Life and Existence

Believe me, every heart has his secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.

One can acquire everything in solitude except character.

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world.

It is a common experience that a problem difficult at night is resolved in the morning after the committee of sleep has worked on it.

Solitude is that human situation in which I keep myself company.

That we are not much sicker and much madder than we are is due exclusively to that most blessed and blessing of all natural graces, sleep.

We do not deal much in fact when we are contemplating ourselves.

Self -deception once yielded to, all other deceptions follow naturally more and more.

We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all.

The self is merely the lens through which we see others and the world, and if this lens is not clear of distortions, we cannot perceive others.

The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly; any other loss— an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc.—is sure to be noticed.

There is no such flatterer as is a man’s self.

There’s only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that’s your own self.

You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.

My attachment has neither the blindness of the beginning— nor the microscopic accuracy of the close of such liaisons.

It is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another’s skin; another’s voice; another’s soul.

You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on top of a hill; and the stone goes, starting others.

The questions which one asks oneself begin, at last, to illuminate the world, and become one’s key to the experience of others.

The noblest question in the world is What Good may I do in it ?

A sudden, bold, and unexpected question doth many times surprise a man and lay him open.

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder.

Many persons have a wrong idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self-gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.