By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.

Ah, if you could dance all that you've just said, then I'd understand.

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?

How simple and frugal a thing is happiness.

God is action, complete with mistakes, fumblings, persistence, agony. God is not the power that has found eternal equilibrium, but the power that is forever breaking every equilibrium, forever searching for a higher one.

How does the light of a star set out and plunge into black eternity in its immortal course? The star dies, but the light never dies; such also is the cry of freedom.

Beauty is merciless. You do not look at it, it looks at you and does not forgive.