There is nothing deep down inside us except what we have put there ourselves.

Truth is simply a compliment paid to sentences seen to be paying their way.

Always strive to excel, but only on weekends.

The world does not speak. Only we do. The world can, once we have programmed ourselves with a language, cause us to hold beliefs. But it cannot propose a language for us to speak. Only other human beings can do that.

The usual picture of Socrates is of an ugly little plebeian who inspired a handsome young nobleman to write long dialogues on large topics.

I think of an intellectual as just being bookish, being interested in history books, utopian ideas, that kind of thing.