Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

Every idea is endowed of itself with immortal life, like a human being. All created form, even that which is created by man, is immortal. For form is independent of matter: molecules do not constitute form.

I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.

A book is a garden, a party, a company by the way.

Everything that is beautiful and noble is the product of reason and calculation.

A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.

However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.