The mind was dreaming. The world was its dream.

So plant your own gardens and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

Happy are the beloved and the lovers and those who can live without love.

Once I am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing; my grave will be the fathomless air; my body will sink endlessly and decay and dissolve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite.

He was very religious; he believed that he had a secret pact with God which exempted him from doing good in exchange for prayers and piety.

Censorship is the mother of metaphor.

Let neither tear nor reproach besmirch this declaration of the mastery of God who, with magnificent irony, granted me both the gift of books and the night.