She knew this man's smile, his gentle ways of love, but not his godlike fury in the storm. She might snare him in a fragile net of music, love and flowers, but, at each departure, he would break forth without, it seemed to her, the least regret.

One's suffering disappears when one lets oneself go, when one yields - even to sadness.

Of what worth are convictions that bring not suffering?

He who bears in his heart a cathedral to be built is already victorious. He who seeks to become sexton of a finished cathedral is already defeated.

A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.

You know... when you are sad you love the sunsets.

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