Nature is a temple, where the living Columns sometimes breathe confusing speech; Man walks within these groves of symbols, each Of which regards him as a kindred thing.

I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialogue I have with my soul.

Always be a poet, even in prose.

Life has but one true charm: the charm of the game. But what if we’re indifferent to whether we win or lose?

Remembering is only a new form of suffering.

The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.

Woman is natural, that is to say, abominable.