The young man reveres men of genius, because, to speak truly, they are more himself than he is.

As we are, so we associate. The good, by affinity, seek the good; the vile, by affinity, the vile. Thus of their own volition, souls proceed into Heaven, into Hell.

A man's growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends. For every friend whom he loses for truth, he gains a better.

The world is upheld by the veracity of good men: they make the earth wholesome. They who lived with them found life glad and nutritious. Life is sweet and tolerable only in our belief in such society.

Yanked out of the present, Adam discovered the richness of the past in people's stories.

If you're fighting moodiness and depression you don't want to hang around a bunch of other moody and depressed people.

Our heritage and ideals, our code and standards -- the things we live by and teach our children -- are preserved or diminished by how freely we exchange ideas and feelings.

The shock of such a partner destabilizes us too much. The risk too great, the discomfort so demanding. We much prefer to settle for a less demanding, less overwhelming meeting. Yet we are haunted by the awareness that only this overwhelming meeting gives life.

The older speak life and lessons to the younger, and the younger bring new energy and enthusiasm, pioneering a new way.

Korsakov got himself shot again, eh? Not surprised. the man's hobby is getting shot. He has a positive talent for it.

If you choose bad companions, no one will believe that you are anything but bad yourself.

When you keep working with somebody, you find out a lot of things about them if you don't know each other personally.