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Everyone must correct his own self; this is something more difficult to cope with, but it is not impossible.

The ego is not master in its own house.

Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?

There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel no one else has a right to blame us.

The man who is dissatisfied with himself, what can he do?

Not only is the self entwined in society; it owes society its existence in the most literal sense.

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.

The self is hateful.

Today self-consciousness no longer means anything but reflection on the ego as embarrassment, as realization of impotence: knowing that one is nothing.

Every man supposes himself not to be fully understood or appreciated.