Love is never finished expressing itself, and it expresses itself better the more poetically it is dreamed.

The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest.

There are children who will leave a game to go and be bored in a corner of the garret. How often have I wished for the attic of my boredom when the complications of life made me lose the very germ of freedom!

Any comparison diminishes the expressive qualities of the terms of the comparison.

When the image is new, the world is new.

Happy is the man who knows or even the man who remembers those silent vigils where silence itself was the sign of the communion of souls!

The past of the soul is so distant! The soul does not live on the edge of time. It finds its rest in the universe imagined by reverie.