It is expediency, expediency, expediency, mixed with stupidity, stupidity, stupidity.

I have given up trying to recognize you in the surging wave of the next moment.

If you see Dostoevsky, tell him that I love him.

I never think or argue, or whine to any one. I do not sleep. I strive for neither sea, nor moon, nor sun, Nor for the ship. I don’t perceive the warmth indoors or The greenery of grass. I don’t await the gift I wished for To come at last. Neither the morning nor the streetcar’s call Delight me as of late. I live oblivious of time and don’t recall The century and date. A little dancer on a slashed rope who’ll collapse, I fear, too soon, I am a shadow’s shade, a lunatic, perhaps, Of two dark moons.

The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone.

Talents are best nurtured in solitude, but character is the best formed in the stormy billows of the world.

The strength required to resist an impulse is most seriously diseased under the influence of weakness–hence one never reacts more promptly and more blindly than when one should not react at all.

The Stoic philosophical life consists essentially in mastering one’s inner discourse.