Suffering raises up those souls that are truly great; it is only small souls that are made mean-spirited by it.

Nature has a language of its own, or maybe those who have lived long in solitude read in it their own unconscious inner feelings and mysterious foreknowledge.

Very few of us are capable of being Free Thinkers, needing neither to adore nor to insult God, the insult often being an act of faith more profound than adoration.

To the one who knows how to look and feel, every moment of this free wandering life is an enchantment.

There is nothing truly serious in life. All words sound hollow when one listens to them carefully.

Who knows the flower best? - the one who reads about it in a book, or the one who finds it wild on the mountainside?

Neglecting small things under the pretext of wanting to accomplish large ones is the excuse of a coward.