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

Hell is the bloodcurdling mansion of time, in whose profoundest circle Satan himself waits, winding a gargantuan watch in his hand.

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

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path. . .

All uncertainty is fruitfull ... so long as it is accompanied by the wish to understand

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

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