Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
There may be responsible persons, but there are no guilty ones.
Nature is a burning and frigid, transparent and limited universe in which nothing is possible but everything is given.
Likewise, every time somebody interjects to speak of my honesty there is someone who quivers inside me.
The truth, as the light, makes blind.
The myth of unlimited production brings war in its train as inevitably as clouds announce a storm.