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.

The seed haunted by the sun never fails to find its way between the stones in the ground. And the pure logician, if no sun draws him forth, remains entangled in his logic.

He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even any sound.

In every crowd are certain persons who seem just like the rest, yet they bear amazing messages.

It is the savor of bread broken with comrades that makes us accept the values of war.

One only really sees with the heart.

No individual is isolated. He who is sad, saddens others.