I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.

Free yourself from one passion to be dominated by another and nobler one. But is not that, too, a form of slavery? To sacrifice oneself to an idea, to a race, to God? Or does it mean that the higher the model the longer the longer the tether of our slavery?

When I encounter a sunrise, a painting, a woman, or an idea that makes my heart bound like a young calf, then I know I am standing in front of happiness.

All roads lead to the earth; the abyss leads to God. Jump!

God sends rain, but He also sends hoods; and when the rain grows heavier, He sends a cave.

My soul comes from better worlds and I have an incurable homesickness of the stars.

Each man must have his own special route to lead him to God.