Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?

At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman.

I felt as though I was partly unlearning what i had never learned and yet knew so well: I mean, how to live.

Although it was the middle of winter, I finally realized that, within me, summer was inextinguishable.

No doubt our love was still there, but quite simply it was unusable, heavy to carry, inert inside of us, sterile as crime or condemnation. It was no longer anything except a patience with no future and a stubborn wait.

Human relationships always help us to carry on because they always presuppose a future.

In the light, the earth remains our first and our last love. Our brothers are breathing under the same sky as we; justice is a living thing. Now is born that strange joy which helps one live and die, and which we shall never again postpone to a later time.