Whoever loves above all the approach of love will never know the joy of attaining it.

The tender friendships one gives up, on parting, leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious feeling of a treasure somewhere buried.

What sets men at variance is but the treachery of language, for always they desire the same things.

He who would travel happy must travel lite.

Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me.

I remembered the fox. One runs the risk of crying a bit if one allows oneself to be tamed.

When the body sinks into death, the essence of man is revealed. Man is a knot, a web, a mesh into which relationships are tied. Only those relationships matter. The body is an old crock that nobody will miss. I have never known a man to think of himself when dying. Never.