Love men and women not for their strength but their softness, not for their fullness but their hunger, not for their plenty but their need.

Our age has need of violence," he writes. And he is violence.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

The softness of the summer day like an ermine paw.

If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.

At first she beckoned and lured one into her world; then, she blurred the passageways, confused all the images, as if to elude detection.

I don't tell the truth any more to those who can't make use of it. I tell it mostly to myself, because it always changes me.