Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you’ll never meet them.
To prejudge other men’s notions before we have looked into them, is not to show their darkness, but to put out our own eyes.
There is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.
Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilized by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones.