Toward seven o'clock every morning, I leave my study and step Out on the bright terrace; the sun already burns resplendent Between the shadows of the fig tree, makes the low wall of coarse Granite warm to the touch. Here my tools lie ready and waiting, Each one an intimate, an ally: the round basket for weeds: The zappetta, the small hoe with a short haft . . . There's a rake here as well, at at times a mattock and spade, Or two watering cans filled with water warmed by the sun. With my basket and small hoe in hand, facing the sun, I Go out for my morning walk.

Whether you and I and a few others will renew the world some day remains to be seen. But within ourselves we must renew it each day.

Learn what is to be taken seriously and laugh at the rest.

Nothing was, nothing will be, everything has reality and presence

What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.

Nothing is harder, yet nothing is more necessary, than to speak of certain things whose existence is neither demonstrable nor probable. The very fact that serious and conscientious men treat them as existing things brings them a step closer to existence and to the possibility of being born.

A thousand times I was ready to regret and take back my rash statement - yet it had been the truth.