To grasp the meaning of the world of today we use a language created to express the world of yesterday. The life of the past seems to us nearer our true natures, but only for the reason that it is nearer our language.

I don't believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are naive. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons.

To live is to be slowly born.

Let a man in a garret but burn with enough intensity and he will set fire to the world.

The field of consciousness is tiny. It accepts only one problem at a time.

Living is being born slowly. It would be a little too easy if we could borrow ready-made souls.

It is the missed opportunity that counts, and in a love that vainly yearns from behind prison bars you have perchance the love supreme.