You can put up with everything in this world except not with a long stretch of beautiful days.

Art is long, life is short; judgement difficult, opportunity transient.

This world could not exist if it were not so simple. The ground has been tilled a thousand years, yet its powers remain ever the same; a little rain, a little sun, and each spring it grows green again.

If you want a wise answer, ask a reasonable question.

Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.

The biggest problem with every art is by the use of appearance to create a loftier reality.

Truth is contrary to our nature, not so error, and this for a very simple reason: truth demands that we should recognize ourselves as limited, error flatters us that, in one way or another, we are unlimited.