On An Exhausted Field, Only Weeds Grow.

There Is Within Us A Moral Instinct Which Forbids Us To Rejoice At The Death Of Even An Enemy.

A Man Who Leaves Memoirs, Whether Well Or Badly Written, Provided They Be Sincere, Renders A Service To Future Psychologists And Writers, Giving Them Not Only A Faithful Picture, But Likewise Human Documents That May Be Relied Upon.

Anxiety Prepares The Organism Badly For An Ordeal Which Even Under More Favorable Circumstances Would Not Be An Easy Thing To Bear.

If The Infinity Of The Sea May Call Out Thus, Perhaps When A Man Is Growing Old, Calls Come To Him, Too, From Another Infinity Still Darker And More Deeply Mysterious; And The More He Is Wearied By Life The Dearer Are Those Calls To Him.

Life Deserves Laughter, Hence People Laugh At It.