Someone spilled the ink on the canvas. Now boasts: "I painted the night".

If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars.

The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest.

No civilized society can thrive upon victims, whose humanity has been permanently mutilated.

Work, especially good work, becomes easy only when desire has learnt to discipline itself.

The world has kissed my Soul with its pain, asking for its return in Songs.

Whatever we understand and enjoy in human products instantly becomes ours, wherever they might have their origin... Let me feel with unalloyed gladness that all the great glories of man are mine.