A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

You cannot save people. You can only love them.

..he made me understand something very important. Whether because I am a Latin, or because I am a neurotic, I have a need of gestures. I am myself expressive, demonstrative; every feeling I have takes on expression: words, gestures, signs, letters, articulateness or action. I need this in others.

The complaints of the child in us will never cease lamenting until it is consoled, answered, understood. Only then will it lie still in us, like our fears. It will die in peace and leave us what the child leaves to the man - the sense of wonder.

the cynic is a coward. He foresees all barrenness so that barrenness can never surprise him.

We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds.

I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically.