Many talents preserve their precociousness right into old age.
Humanity is the washerwoman of society that wrings out its dirty laundry in tears.
A writer is someone who can make a riddle out of an answer.
Adults who still derive childlike pleasure from hanging gifts of a ready-made education on the Christmas tree of a child waiting outside the door to life do not realize how unreceptive they are making the children to everything that constitutes the true surprise of life.
Blushing, palpitations, a bad conscience--this is what you get if you haven't sinned.
My respect for the inconsiderable is assuming gigantic dimensions.