Who longs in solitude to live, Ah! soon his wish will gain: Men hope and love, men get and give, and leave him to his pain.

It would be a lowly art that allowed itself to be understood all at once.

I must consider more closely this cycle of good and bad days which I find coursing within myself. Passion, attachment, the urge to action, inventiveness, performance, order all alternate and keep their orbit; cheerfulness, vigor, energy, flexibility and fatigue, serenity as well as desire. Nothing disturbs the cycle for I lead a simple life, but I must still find the time and order in which I rotate.

To be loved for what one is, that is the greatest exception. The great majority love in others only what they lend him; their own selves, their version of him.

True love is love that stays constant for ever, whatever it's fortune; whether requited or scored, filled or sent empty away.

The desire to explain what is simple by what is complex, what is easy by what is difficult, is a calamity.

Do not hurry; do not rest.