I am so fed up and joyless that not only have I nothing to fill my soul, I cannot even conceive of anything that could possibly satisfy it - alas, not even the bliss of heaven.

One can advise comfortably from a safe port.

To grumble about the world and its unhappiness is always easier than to beat one's breast and groan over oneself.

I am convinced that God is love, this thought has for me a primitive lyrical validity. When it is present to me, I am unspeakably blissful, when it is absent, I long for it more vehemently than does the lover for his object.

Only the noble of heart are called to difficulty.

You train yourself in the art of being mysterious to everyone. My dear friend! What if there were no one, who cared about guessing your riddle, what pleasure would you then take in it?

The question is asked in ignorance, by one who does not even know what can have led him to ask it.