The absence of vices adds so little to the sum of one's virtues.

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.

By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind sees the path

Death is something we don't have to fear, since as long as we exist death doesn't and when it does we don't.

Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.

XXIX Traveler, there is no path. The path is made by walking. Traveller, the path is your tracks And nothing more. Traveller, there is no path The path is made by walking. By walking you make a path And turning, you look back At a way you will never tread again Traveller, there is no road Only wakes in the sea.

Life is the path you beat while you walk it It's the walking that beats the path It is not the path that makes the walk