When the heart speaks, its language is the same under all latitudes.

Others are keen to see if natives other than us live better than we do, without heat in pipes, ice in boxes, sunshine in bulbs, music on disks, or images gliding over a pale screen.

I had to live in the desert before I could understand the full value of grass in a green ditch.

Every time I took a long leave from home, I felt as if I were going to conquer the world. Or rather, take possession of what is my birthright, my inheritance.

I can see now that a concept or even a feeling makes no sense unless out of our substance we spin around it a web of references, of relationships, of values.

The sooner we learn to be jointly responsible, the easier the sailing will be.

I refuse to imprison our acts in the rigid mould of sentences.