In psychoanalysis nothing is true except the exaggerations.

There is no female mind. The brain is not an organ of sex. As well speak of a female liver.

What is outside my mind means nothing to it.

The highest possible stage in moral culture is when we recognize that we ought to control our thoughts.

Any man could, if he were so inclined, be the sculptor of his own brain.

Sooner or later if the activity of the mind is restricted anywhere, it will cease to function even where it is allowed to be free.

What the brain does by itself is infinitely more fascinating and complex than any response it can make to chemical stimulation.

Your mind’s got to eat, too.

“I think, therefore I am” is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches.

We need strength, we need energy, we need quickness, and we need brain in this country to turn it around.

Not all heads have a brain.

What a torture to talk to filled heads that allow nothing from the outside to enter them.

The mind is not, I know, a highway but a temple, and its doors should not be carelessly left open.