Nothing beautiful can be summarized.

It would be impossible to "love" anyone or anything one knew completely. Love is directed towards what lies hidden in its object.

His heart is a desert island.... The whole scope, the whole energy of his mind surround and protect him; his depths isolate him and guard him against the truth. He flatters himself that he is entirely alone there.... Patience, dear lady. Perhaps, one day, he will discover some footprint on the sand.... What holy and happy terror, what salutary fright, once he recognizes in that pure sign of grace that his island is mysteriously inhabited!

Photography invites one to give up any attempt to delineate such things as can delineate themselves.

The history of thought may be summed up in these words: it is absurd by what it seeks and great by what it finds.

Science is feasible when the variables are few and can be enumerated; when their combinations are distinct and clear. We are tending toward the condition of science and aspiring to do it. The artist works out his own formulas; the interest of science lies in the art of making science.

In poetry everything which must be said is almost impossible to say well.