Failure to love is almost like murder.

And when the war broke out, its real horrors, its real dangers, its menace of real death were a blessing compared with the inhuman reign of the lie, and they brought relief because they broke the spell of the dead letter.

He comes as a guest to the feast of existence, and knows that what matters is not how much he inherits but how he behaves at the feast, and what people remember and love him for.

Our evenings are farewells. Our parties are testaments. So that the secret stream of suffering. May warm the cold of life.

Failure to love is almost like murder.

At the moment of childbirth, every woman has the same aura of isolation, as though she were abandoned, alone.

What is history? Its beginning is that of the centuries of systematic work devoted to the solution of the enigma of death, so that death itself may eventually be overcome. That is why people write symphonies, and why they discover mathematical infinity and electromagnetic waves.