The act of love is a confession.

Instead of killing and dying in order to produce the being that we are not, we have to live and let live in order to create what we are.

When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

Why must one love rarely to love well?

So the thing that bothered me most was that the condemned man had to hope the machine would work the first time.

To those who despair of everything reason cannot provide a faith, but only passion, and in this case it must be the same passion that lay at the root of the despair, namely humiliation and hatred.

We are not certain, we are never certain.