No man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self-knowledge.
The question is not how to get cured, but how to live.
Woe to the man whose heart has not learned while young to hope, to love - and to put its trust in life.
The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.
Only in men's imagination does every truth find an effective and undeniable existence. Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.
How does one kill fear, I wonder? How do you shoot a specter through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat?