The mysterious path goes inward. It is in us, and not anywhere else, where the eternity of the worlds, the past and the future are found.
Hypotheses are nets: only he who casts will catch.
It is certain my belief gains quite infinitely the very moment I can convince another mind thereof
Life must not be a novel that is given to us, but one that is made by us.
We are near waking when we dream we are dreaming.
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.