He who loves lives, he who lives works, and he who works has bread.

Reading has always been the largest and most irreplaceable pleasure for Vincent; reading about other people's successes and failures, joys and sufferings seemed to bury his own failures.

There are neither good nor evil, only the existence and action.

Our secret thoughts - do they ever show up? The small flame of our soul can be burning hot, but no one comes to its warmth. Passersby see only a small whiff going through the chimney. Don't we need to take care of that flame, cherish it and patiently wait until someone will come and sit at it, do we?

Drawing is the poet's written line, set down to see if there be a story worth telling, a truth worth revealing.

How can a young person learn whether he chose the correct way? He thinks he has a special idea, and then he discovers that he is completely inappropriate for it.

Reading is a stouthearted activity, disporting courage, keenness, stick-to-it-ness.