He who makes a paradise of his bread makes a hell of his hunger.
Flowers are without hope. Because hope is tomorrow and flowers have no tomorrow.
A door opens to me. I go in and am faced with a hundred closed doors.
My bits of time play with eternity.
I began my comedy as its only actor and I come to the end as its only spectator.
Human suffering, while it is asleep, is shapeless. If it is wakened it takes the form of the waker.