Life is a series of collisions with the future.

Human vitality is so exuberant that in the sorriest desert it still finds a pretext for glowing and trembling.

The truth is that no horizon is especially interesting by itself, by virtue of its peculiar content, and that any horizon, wide or narrow, brilliant or dull, varied or monotonous, may possess an interest of its own which merely requires a vital adjustment to be discovered.

All life is the struggle, the effort to be itself.

To be surprised, to wonder, is to begin to understand. This is the sport, the luxury, special to the intellectual man.

The poet begins where the man ends. The man's lot is to live his human life, the poet's to invent what is nonexistent.

All we are given is possibilities — to make ourselves one thing or another.