O darkness, the sky is a gloomy precinct Whose door you close, and whose key the soul owns; And night divides itself in half, being diabolical and holy, Between Ilis, the black angel, and Christ, the starry Human Being.

As for methods of prayer, all of them are good as long as they are sincere.

It is ourselves we have to fear. Prejudice is the real robber, and vice the real murderer.

The author creates a book and the people accept or not accept it. The creator of a book is an author and the creator of it`s fate are people.

There is suffering in the light; in excess it burns. Flame is hostile to the wing. To burn and yet to fly, this is the miracle of genius.

At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her, she thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted on her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner.

There is no distress so complete but that even in the most critical moments the inexplicable sunrise of hope is seen in its depths.