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

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.

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. . .

The only living language is the language in which we think and have our being.

Wherever learning breeds specialists, the sum of human culture is enhanced thereby. That is the illusion and consolation of specialists.

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.

Death is something we shouldn't fear because, while we are, death isn't, and when death is, we aren't.