One could laugh at the world better if it didn't mix tender kindliness with its brutality.

When love turns into dust, money becomes the substitution.

The sense of wonder, that is our sixth sense.

Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.

At the back of my life's horizon, where the dreamings of past lives crowd.

One should be religious in everything, have God, whatever God might be, present in everything.

When van Gogh paints sunflowers, he reveals, or achieves, the vivid relation between himself, as man, and the sunflower, as sunflower, at that quick moment of time. His painting does not represent the sunflower itself. We shall never know what the sunflower itself is. And the camera will visualize the sunflower far more perfectly than van Gogh can.