suffering is one very long moment. we cannot divide it by seasons. we can only record its moods and chronicle their return. with us time itself does not progress. it revolves. it seems to circle round one centre of pain.
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nobody great or small can be ruined except by his own hand.
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suffering is the means by which we exist, because it is the only means by which we become conscious of existing, and the remembrance of suffering in the past is necessary to us as the warrant, the evidence, of our continued identity.
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the fatal errors of life are not due to man's being unreasonable. an unreasonable moment may be one's finest moment.
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the great things of life are what they seem to be and for that reason are often difficult to interpret. but the little things of life are symbols. we receive our bitter lessons most easily through them.
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to regret one's own experience is to arrest one's own development.
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pain, unlike pleasure, wears no mask.
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as the greek oracle said: to know oneself. that is the first achievement of knowledge. but to recognise that the soul of a man is unknowable, is the ultimate achievement of wisdom. the final mystery is oneself. who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?
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hearts are made to be broken.
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