Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.
There is another world, but it is in this one.
There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met.
All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.
The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.
The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.
Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.
Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.
Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!
Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote. A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your throat. So stay at home and drink your beer and let the neighbors vote.
What can be explained is not poetry.
Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.
People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
Life is a journey up a spiral staircase; as we grow older we cover the ground covered we have covered before, only higher up; as we look down the winding stair below us we measure our progress by the number of places where we were but no longer are. The journey is both repetitious and progressive; we go both round and upward.
It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.
If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.
Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
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