We revel in the laxness of the path we take.

Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father, Your mother, your sister, or your brother? I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother. Your friends? Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known. Your country? I do not know in what latitude it lies. Beauty? I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal. Gold? I hate it as you hate God. Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger? I love the clouds the clouds that pass up there Up there the wonderful clouds!

In certain almost supernatural states of the soul, the profundity of life reveals itself entirely in the spectacle, however ordinary it may be, before one's eyes. It becomes its symbol.

I throw fresh seeds out. Who knows what survives?

It is regrettable that, among the Rights of Man, the right of contradicting oneself has been forgotten.

A study of the Great Malady; horror of home.

And over your unconsecrated head you'll hear the howling wolves lament their fate and yours the livelong year.