I go into my library, and all history unrolls before me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of Eden's roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the world's first brood of nightingales, and to the laugh of Eve. I see the pyramids building; I hear the shoutings of the armies of Alexander.

In my garden I spend my days, in my library I spend my nights. My interests are divided between my geraniums and my books. With the flower I am in the present; with the book I am in the past.

To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.

In my garden I spend my days; in my library I spend my nights.

To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.

Winter does not work only on a broad scale; he is careful in trifles.

A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.