I said to the almond tree, 'Sister, speak to me of God.' And the almond tree blossomed.

The heart unites whatever the mind separates, pushes on beyond the arena of necessity and transmutes the struggle into love.

All those who actually live the mysteries of life haven't the time to write, and all those who have the time don't live them! D'you see?

I am a weak, ephemeral creature made of mud and dream. But I feel all the powers of the universe whirling within me.

I should learn to run, to wrestle, to swim, to ride horses, to row, to drive a car, to fire a rifle. I should fill my soul with flesh. I should fill my flesh with soul. In fact, I should reconcile at last within me the two internal antagonists.

My principle anguish and the source of all my joys and sorrows from my youth onward has been the incessant, merciless battle between the spirit and the flesh.

When shall I at last retire into solitude alone, without companions, without joy and without sorrow, with only the sacred certainty that all is a dream? When, in my rags—without desires—shall I retire contented into the mountains? When, seeing that my body is merely sickness and crime, age and death, shall I—free, fearless, and blissful—retire to the forest? When? When, oh when?