Death does not frighten me, but dying obscurely and above all uselessly does.

I will only ever be drawn to people who suffer from that special and fertile anguish called self-doubt, or the thirst for the ideal, and desire for the soul's mystical fire. Self-satisfaction because of some material accomplishment will never be for me. The truly great are those who quest for better spiritual selves.

While to live in the past and think of what was good and beautiful about it amounts to a sort of seasoning of the present, the perennial wait for tomorrow is bound to result in chronic discontent that poisons one's entire outlook.

I am not afraid of death, but would not want to die in some obscure or pointless way.

I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.

From every ruin, life springs up again and everything that dies is born again.

The farther behind I leave the past, the closer I am to forging my own character.