It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything. I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning.

Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.

It is clear that we must trust what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries to be itself at all costs and against all opposition. We know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it.

Fame is the sum of the misunderstanding that gathers about a new name.

But because truly being here is so much; because everything here apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.

It seems to me that the only way one can be helpful is to extend one's hand to someone else involuntarily, and without ever knowing how useful this will be.

What batters you becomes your strength.