If the human intellect functions, it is actually in order to solve the problems which the man's inner destiny sets it.

The essence of man is, discontent, divine discontent; a sort of love without a beloved, the ache we feel in a member we no longer have.

We fall in love when our imagination projects nonexistent perfection upon another person. One day, the fantasy evaporates and with it, love dies.

Excellence means when a man or woman asks of himself more than others do.

In these years we are witnessing the gigantic spectacle of innumerable human lives wandering about lost in their own labyrinths, through not having anything to which to give themselves.

Man in a word has no nature; what he has... is history.

I am I plus my surroundings; and if I do not preserve the latter, I do not preserve myself.