One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach; one can collect only a few, and they are more beautiful if they are few.
Hoarders save things they believe will be useful to others rather than themselves. They would feel guilty and worry about being neglectful if they didn’t have these things around for others who might need them someday. They may also feel guilty if they don’t save a potentially useful item that could be repaired or recycled […]
We know that every collector is an unconscious Don Juan who has transferred his passion from an erotic to a non-erotic sphere. But we also know that the passion with which the collected items are loved emanates from the erotic domain.
It is perhaps a more fortunate destiny to have a taste for collecting shells than to be born a millionaire.
I have the world’s largest collection of seashells. I keep it scattered around the beaches of the world. Perhaps you’ve seen it.
Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
A little and a little, collected together, becomes a great deal; the heap in the barn consists of single grains, and drop and drop makes an inundation.
Souvenirs of memory must be only that. Things to be taken up and fondled occasionally for evocation of past joys. No joy can be permanent. All is transient. “This, too, shall pass away” applies to all of our living universe.
The collector walks with blinders on; he sees nothing but the prize. In fact, the acquisitive instinct is incompatible with true appreciation of beauty.
What we become depends on what we read after all of the professors have finished with us. The greatest university of all is a collection of books.