Happiness Is A Kind Of

To Have Passed Through Life And Never Experienced Solitude Is To Have Never Known Oneself. To Have Never Known Oneself Is To Have Never Known Anyone.

A Tragic Writer Does Not Have To Believe In God, But He Must Believe In Man.

Both The Cockroach And The Bird Would Get Along Very Well Without Us, Although The Cockroach Would Miss Us Most.

February... Now More Than Ever One Must Remind Oneself That It Is Wasteful Folly To Wish That Time Would Pass, Or - As The Puritanical Old Saying Used To Have It - To Kill Time Until It Kills You.

Man Is, Perhaps, No More Prone To War Than He Used To Be And No More Inclined To Commit Other Evil Deeds. But A Given Amount Of Ill Will Or Folly Will Go Further Than It Used To.