Work cannot convey the almost voluptuous sweetness of the feelings experienced ... in solitude.

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

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

As a stoic I must despise injury or, rather, I must not feel it, must not be affected by it so that it cannot violate the freedom of my soul.

The wise expect nothing, hope for nothing, thus avoiding all disappointment and anxiety.

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.

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.