Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it.

The mysteries of death and birth occupy women far more than is the case with men, to whom political and mercantile speculations are more congenial.

Life runs to death as its goal, and we should go towards that next stage of experience either carelessly as to what must be, or with a good, honest curiosity as to what may be.

The inexorable compulsion of all things is towards health or destruction, life or death, and we hasten our joys or our woes to the logical extreme. It is urgent, therefore, that we be joyous if we wish to live.

Perfectionism is slow death

There is no tragedy more woeful than the victory of hate, nor any attainment so hopelessly barren as the sterility of that achievement; for hate is finality, and finality is the greatest evil which can happen in a world of movement.