We cannot forgive another for not being ourselves.

At last you are no longer searching for yourself, but for another-you are saved.

Just as much as we see in others we have in ourselves.

The longer we live, the more we find we are like other persons.

Others are to us like the "characters" in fiction, eternal and incorrigible; the surprises they give us turn out in the end to have been predictable- unexpected variations on the theme of being themselves.

We are never the same with others as when we are alone; we are different, even, when we are in the dark with them.

It is the tragedy of other people that they are to us merely showcases for the very perishable collections of our own mind.

Do not base your life on the judgments of others; first, because they are as likely to be mistaken as you are, and further, because you cannot know that they are telling you their true thoughts.

Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is one's self.

It is some comfort to the wretched to have others to share in their woe.