Science is the poetry of the intellect and poetry the science of the heart's affections.

Love joins and then divides. How else would we be growing?

Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me, and then show me the place where he was hanged.

I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything.

Lovers can find nothing to say to each other that has not been said and unsaid a thousand times over. Kisses were invented to translate such nothings into wounds

It’s only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdry that you can get tenderness.

I don’t believe one reads to escape reality. A person reads to confirm a reality he knows is there, but which he has not experienced.