There's not much need for prophets who are in synch with their society.

He who matures early lives in anticipation.

The capacity for fear and for happiness are the same, the unrestricted openness to experience amounting to self-abandonment in which the vanquished rediscovers himself.

Even the loveliest dream bears like a blemish its difference from reality, the awareness that what it grants is mere illusion.

He who integrates is lost.

Indeed, happiness is nothing other than being encompassed, an after-image of the original shelter within the mother. But for this reason no one who is happy can know that he is so. To see happiness, he would have to pass out of it: to be as if already born. He who says he is happy lies, and in invoking happiness, sins against it. He alone keeps faith who says: I was happy.

He who has loved and who betrays love does harm not only to the image of the past, but to the past itself.