Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best.

My grief and my smile begin in your face, my son.

Writing tends to cheer me; it always soothes my spirit and blesses me with the gift of an innocent, tender, childlike day. It is the sensation of having spent a few hours in my homeland, with my customs, free whims, my total freedom.

Let the earth look at me, and bless me, for now I am fecund and sacred, like the palms and the furrows.

Let the radiance of my enthusiasms envelop the poor courtyard and the bare classroom. Let my heart be a stronger column and my goodwill purer gold than the columns and gold of rich schools.

There is the joy of being healthy and fair, but there is overall the beauty, the immense joy of being useful.

What the soul is to the body, so is the artist to his people.