To feel keenly the poetry of a morning's roses, one has to have just escaped from the claws of this vulture which we call sickness.

Action is coarsened thought; thought becomes concrete, obscure, and unconscious.

I find myself regarding existence as though from beyond the tomb, from another world; all is strange to me; I am, as it were, outside my own body and individuality; I am depersonalized, detached, cut adrift. Is this madness?

I'm not interested in age. People who tell me their age are silly. You're as old as you feel.

Order means light and peace, inward liberty and free command over one's self; order is power.

In every loving woman there is a priestess of the past - a pious guardian of some affection, of which the object has disappeared.

So long as a person is capable of self-renewal they are a living being. -Henri