My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.

Never having discovered qualities in myself which could attract someone else, I could never believe that anyone felt attracted to me.

To know how to think with emotions and to feel with intellect.

I was a poet animated by philosophy, not a philosopher with poetic faculties.

We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It's our own concept—our own selves—that we love.

I want to be a work of art, at least in my soul, since I can’t be one in my body.

Sometimes, when I wake up at night, I feel invisible hands weaving my destiny.