All the goodness, beauty, and perfection of a human being belong to the one who knows how to recognize these qualities.
Passion, that thing of beauty, that flowering without roots, has to be born, live and die without reason.
To live is often only to have a choice of several despairs.
a personality devoted uniquely to its own development absorbs other lives.
Without imagination, nothing is dangerous.
We do not yet know each other because we have not yet dared to be silent together.