One can beg, buy, be presented with and find love in the streets, but it can never be stolen.

Each man's life represents a road toward himself, an attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path. No man has ever been entirely and completely himself.

Happiness is love, nothing else.

Love is like death. It is fulfillment and an evening after which nothing more may follow.

When dealing with the insane, the best method is to pretend to be sane.

We must become so alone, so utterly alone, that we withdraw into our innermost self. It is a way of bitter suffering. But then our solitude is overcome, we are no longer alone, for we find that our innermost self is the spirit, that it is God, the indivisible. And suddenly we find ourselves in the midst of the world, yet undisturbed by its multiplicity, for our innermost soul we know ourselves to be one with all being.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening...