It makes me happy to encounter goodness, love of work, humane intelligence, and people no matter at what kind of job, be it ever so humble, or ever so exalted, who do it well and con amore.

It was a morning in early summer. A silver haze shimmered and trembled over the lime trees. The air was laden with their fragrance. The temperature was like a caress. I remember - I need not recall - that I climbed up a tree stump and felt suddenly immersed in Itness. I did not call it by that name. I had no need for words. It and I were one.

Psychoanalysts are not occupied with the minds of their patients; they do not believe in the mind but in a cerebral intestine.

I wonder whether art has a higher function than to make me feel, appreciate, and enjoy natural objects for their art value?

I am only a picture-taster, the way others are wine-or tea-tasters.

You can parody and make fun of almost anything, but that does not turn the universe into a caricature.

We usually meet all of our relatives only at funerals where somebody always observes: "Too bad we can't get together more often".