Man dies of cold, not of darkness.
The less we read, the more harmful it is what we read.
Love is the child of illusion and the parent of disillusion.
To believe in God is to yearn for His existence and, furthermore, it is to act as if He did exist.
The will, the will not ever to die, the refusal to resign oneself to death, ceaselessly builds the house of life while the keen blasts and icy winds of reason unceasingly batter at the structure and beat it down.
For it is the suffering flesh, it is suffering, it is death, that lovers perpetuate upon the earth. Love is at once the brother, son, and father of death, which is its sister, mother, and daughter. And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth