Anything that consoles is fake.

We can only learn to love by loving.

Our actions are like ships which we may watch set out to sea, and not know when or with what cargo they will return to port.

Human affairs are not serious, but they have to be taken seriously.

Those who hope, by retiring from the world, to earn a holiday from human frailty, in themselves and others, are usually disappointed.

People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.

So we live; a spirit that broods and hovers over the continual death of time, the lost meaning, the unrecaptured moment, the unremembered face, until the final chop that ends all our moments and plunges that spirit back into the void from which it came.