Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits

I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

There is no one so bound to his own face that he does not cherish the hope of presenting another to the world.

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

Don't try to rush things: for the cup to run over, it must first be filled.

What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

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