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

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.

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

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

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?