A man has many parts, he is virtually everything, and you are free to select in him that part which pleases you.

The mass of mankind is divided into two classes, the Sancho Panzas who have a sense for reality, but no ideals, and the Don Quixotes with a sense for ideals, but mad.

What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!

Twenty-five hundred years ago it might have been said that man understood himself as well as any other part of the world. Today he is the thing he understands least.

In the traditional view, a person is free. He is autonomous in the sense that his behavior is uncaused. He can therefore be held responsible for what he does and justly punished if he offends.

The fish in the water is silent, the animal on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing. But Man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air.

I am a man; I consider nothing human alien to me.

I will confess that I have no more sense of what goes on in the mind of mankind than I have for the mind of an ant.

Man has gone long enough, or even too long, without being man enough to face the simple truth that the trouble with man is Man.

The noblest work of God? Man. Who found it out? Man.