Man, when he is merely what he seems to be, is almost nothing.
Without this ridiculous vanity that takes the form of self-display, and is part of everything and everyone, we would see nothing, and nothing would exist.
In a full heart there is room for everything, and in an empty heart there is room for nothing.
He who makes a paradise of his bread makes a hell of his hunger.
All the suns labor to kindle your flame and a microbe puts it out.
He who does not fill his world with phantoms remains alone.