Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.

The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy.

False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

Faith is a bird that can see the light when it is dawn and starts singing in the dark.

The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth's dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart.

Music fills the infinite between two souls.

Life itself is a strange mixture. We have to take it as it is, try to understand it, and then to better it.