Of all my books, I find only a few indispensible.

We wasters of sorrows! How we stare away into sad endurance beyond them, trying to foresee their end! Whereas they are nothing else than our winter foliage, our sombre evergreen, one of the seasons of our interior year.

Who speaks of conquering? To endure is everything.

Your life will still find its own paths from there, and that they may be good, rich, and wide is what I wish for you, more than I can say.

I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.

Be out of sync with your times for just one day, and you will see how much eternity you contain within you.

The only journey is the one within.