It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.
The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.
The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from them too.
We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench
Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.