Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.

Everything speaks: the flowing airstream and the sailing halycon, the blade of grass, the flower, the bud, the element; did you imagine the universe to be otherwise?

Great griefs exhaust. They discourage us with life. The man into whom they enter feels something taken from him. In youth, their visit is sad; later on, it is ominous.

If nobody loved, the sun would go out.

The poetic element lying hidden in most women is the source of their magnetic attraction.

Labor is life; thought is light.

Out Milky Way is the dwelling; the nebulae are the city.