The earth does not want new continents, but new men.
Men can’t own the land no more’n they can own the sea or the sky.
What freedom men and women could have, were they not constantly tricked and trapped and enslaved and tortured by their sexuality! The only drawback in that freedom is that without it one would not be a human. One would be a monster.
This is how warlike men assuage their consciences—by talk of glory.
There would be far less suffering amongst mankind, if men—and God knows why they are so fashioned—did not employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with equanimity.
There is a price for being good the same as for being bad; a cost to pay. And it’s the good men that can’t deny the bill when it comes around. They can’t deny it, like the honest man that gambles. The bad men can deny it; that’s why don’t anybody expect them to pay on sight or any other time. But the good can’t.
There are just some kind of men who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one.
The wisest men in all ages have judged similarly with regard to life: it is good for nothing.
The life which men praise and regard as successful is but one kind. Why should we exaggerate any one kind at the expense of the others?
The injury therefore that we do to a man must be such that we need not fear his vengeance.
Still we live meanly, like ants; though the fable tells us that we were long ago changed into men.
Some men never die and some men never live but we’re all alive tonight.
