en bruger brændevin, en anden bruger løgne; å ja! så brugte vi eventyr om prinser og trolde og allslags dyr - Henrik Ibsen

Ghosts! […] I almost think we are all of us ghosts. It is not only what we have inherited from our father and mother that ‘walks’ in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake them off. Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sands of the sea. And then we are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light.

A normally constituted truth lives, let us say, as a rule seventeen or eighteen, or at most twenty years — seldom longer.

To think it, wish it, even want it — but do it! No, that I cannot understand.