The afternoon is bright, with spring in the air, a mild March afternoon, with the breath of April stirring, I am alone in the quiet patio looking for some old untried illusion - some shadow on the whiteness of the wall some memory asleep on the stone rim of the fountain, perhaps in the air the light swish of some trailing gown.

Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt - marvellous error! - That it was God I had here inside my heart.

No one can shed light on vices he does not have or afflictions he has ever experienced.

The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.

Those who deny the existence of the truth postulate the truth of their denial and plainly contradict themselves.

Man would be "otherwise." That's the essence of the specifically human.

Beware of the community in which blasphemy does not exist: underneath, atheism runs rampant.