…Perhaps this momentary life of ours is only the light that divides our infinite origin from our infinite end.

My only two weapons: time and silence.

I am not I. I am this one walking beside me whom I do not see, whom at times I manage to visit, and whom at other times I forget; who remains calm and silent while I talk, and forgives, gently, when I hate, who walks where I am not, who will remain standing when I die.

Some of my affectionate envious friends say, "You write too much." Maybe, I answer. But as long as the best of your little is worse than the worst of my much, I will keep on doing so.

To live is nothing more than to come here to die, to be what we were before being born, but with apprenticeship, experience, knowledge of cause, and perhaps with will.

Literature is a state of culture, poetry is a state of grace, before and after culture.

A permanent state of transition is man's most noble condition.