Everybody has had at some time nightmares of falling, which seem to suggest an origin in the lives of our arboreal ancestors, though this perhaps is fanciful

I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no longer a possibility. Yet when I talk with my gardener, I'm convinced of the opposite.

I believe in using words, not fists. I believe in my outrage knowing people are living in boxes on the street. I believe in honesty. I believe in a good time. I believe in good food. I believe in sex.

Both in thought and in feeling, even though time be real, to realise the unimportance of time is the gate of wisdom.

No one gossips about other people's secret virtues.

Ethics is in origin the art of recommending to others the sacrifices required for cooperation with oneself.