And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.

You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me.

Only he can understand what a farm is, what a country is, who shall have sacrificed part of himself to his farm or country, fought to save it, struggled to make it beautiful. Only then will the love of farm or country fill his heart.

Of what worth are convictions that bring not suffering?

But certainly, for us who understand life, figures are a matter of indifference.

It's hard luck always having to be a judge.

If Someone wants a sheep, then that means that he exists.