We Are Our Own Aptest Deceiver.

One Never Goes Further Than When They Do Not Know Where They Are Going.

The Passions Are Like Those Demons With Which Afrasahiab Sailed Down The Orus. Our Only Safety Consists In Keeping Them Asleep. If They We Are Lost.

Someday Someone Will Write A Pathology Of Experimental Physics And Bring To Light All Those Swindles Which Subvert Our Reason, Beguile Our Judgement And, What Is Worse, Stand In The Way Of Any Practical Progress. The Phenomena Must Be Freed Once And For All From Their Grim Torture Chamber Of Empiricism, Mechanism, And Dogmatism; They Must Be Brought Before The Jury Of Man's Common Sense.

The Suffering May Be Moral Or Physical; And In My Opinion It Is Just As Absurd To Call A Man A Coward Who Destroys Himself, As To Call A Man A Coward Who Dies Of A Malignant Fever.

The Ideal Of Beauty Is Simplicity And Tranquility.