Nature is a book, a letter, a fairy tale (in the philosophical sense) or whatever you want to call it.

What for others is style, for me is soul.

Everything is vain and tortures the spirit instead of calming and satisfying it.

Our reason arises, at the very least, from this twofold lesson of sensuous revelations and human testimonies.

Poetry is the mother-tongue of the human race.

Self knowledge begins with the neighbor, the mirror, and just the same with true self-love; that goes from the mirror to the matter.

The farther reason looks the greater is the haze in which it loses itself.