In our own presence, we all pretend to be simpler than we are: thus we take a break from our fellow human beings.

Pitch-black winter nights live in my bones.

Every word has its fragrance: there is a harmony and a disharmony of fragrances, and hence of words.

Whoever does not have a good father should procure one.

What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the end of all things: so vain are they.

Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still too young—so have patience with it!

Most people are too stupid to act in their own interest