What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote.

What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives?

Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love.

I think you’re beautiful, the only beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. I adore you.

Give, do not lend; after death who will thank you?

One doesn't come to Italy for niceness," was the retort; "one comes for life. Buon giorno! Buon giorno!

I have no mystic faith in the people. I have in the individual.