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

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.

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

Landscapes have a language of their own, expressing the soul of the things, lofty or humble, which constitute them, from the mighty peaks to the smallest of the tiny flowers hidden in the meadow's grass.

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.

One must be very strong, or very stupid, or completely exhausted to face life with indifference.