The thornbush is the old obstacle in the road. It must catch fire if you want to go further.

Because of impatience we were driven out [of Paradise]; because of impatience we cannot return.

Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.

In argument similes are like songs in love; they describe much, but prove nothing.

I believe that we should read only those books that bite and sting us. If a book we are reading does not rouse us with a blow to the head, then why read it?

Ours is a lost generation, it may be, but it is more blameless than those earlier generations.

The more horses you yoke the quicker everything will go - not the rending of the block from its foundation, which is impossible, but the snapping of the traces and with that the gay and empty journey.