He who has made a thousand things and he who has made none, both feel the same desire: to make something.

The flower that you hold in your hands was born today and already it is as old as you are.

I have scarcely touched the sky and I am made of it.

I believe that the soul consists of its sufferings. For the soul that cures its own sufferings dies.

Situated in some nebulous distance I do what I do so that the universal balance of which I am a part may remain a balance.

I would ask something more of this world, if it had something more.

Night is a world lit by itself.