realizes. It never decides upon them in advance, and almost always
engenders regrets.

It is the result of a defeat in self-control, which will-power and the
power of reasoning alone can correct.

Intuition is less spontaneous than impulse.

It is a very brief mental operation, but, nevertheless, very real, which,
very indistinctly, touches lightly all the phases of reasoning, in order
to reach a conclusion so rapidly that he who conceives it has difficulty
in making the transformations of the initial thought intelligible.

It is none the less true that intuition is always inspired by a predicted
reflection, but, in spite of this fact, an existing reflection.

Impulse, on the contrary, only admits instinct as its source of
existence.

It is the avowed enemy of common sense, which counsels the escape from
exterior insinuations that one may concentrate, in order to listen to the
voice which dictates to us the abstinence from doing anything until after
making a complete analysis of the cause which agitates us.

Some philosophers have sought to rank inspiration under the flag of
impulse, which they thought to defend; yes, even to recover esteem under
this new form.

"We should know how to stand on guard," says Yoritomo, "against this
fatal error."