If you shut up truth, and bury it underground, it will but grow.
When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.
Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.
I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
I am spending delightful afternoons in my garden, watching everything living around me. As I grow older, I feel everything departing, and I love everything with more passion.