He who sees without loving is only straining his eyes in the darkness.

Most creatures have a vague belief that a very precarious hazard, a kind of transparent membrane, divides death from love; and that the profound idea of nature demands that the giver of life should die at the moment of giving.

In any event, a truth that disheartens, because it is true, is still of far more value than the most stimulating of falsehoods.

We are never the same with others as when we are alone. We are different, even when we are in the dark with them.

Every year, in November, at the season that follows the hour of the dead, the crowning and majestic hours of autumn, I go to visit the chrysanthemums ... They are indeed, the most universal, the most diverse of flowers.

All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing.

The souls of all our brethren are ever hovering about us, craving for a caress, and only waiting for the signal.