We live in the age of the overworked and the undereducated.

The great events of one's life often leave one unmoved: they pass out of consciousness, and, when one thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with us.

Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.

To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.

Misfortunes one can endure-they come from outside, they are accidents. But to suffer for one's own faults-ah! there is the sting of life.

None of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves.

The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion- these are the two things that govern us.

Intellectual generalities are always interesting, but generalities in morals mean absolutely nothing.

The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius.

I am afraid that good people do a great deal of harm in this world. Certainly the greatest harm they do is that they make badness of such extraordinary importance.