One day, I watched the sun setting forty-four times......You know...when one is so terribly sad, one loves sunsets.

Perhaps creativity is fumbling that dance step, or driving the chisel the wrong way into the stone.

She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her.

But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.

The field of consciousness is tiny. It accepts only one problem at a time. Get into a fist fight, put your mind on the strategy of the fight, and you will not feel the other fellow's punches.

If some one loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself, "My flower's up there somewhere. . . ." But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn't important?

Experience will guide us to the rules. You cannot make rules precede practical experience.