The true artist can only labor con amore.
To rove about, musing, that is to say loitering, is, for a philosopher, a good way of spending time.
I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes, - and the stars through his soul.
If suffer we must, let's suffer on the heights.
The soul does not give itself up to despair until it has exhausted all illusions.
The peasants of the Asturias believe that in every litter of wolves there is one pup that is killed by the mother for fear that on growing up it would devour the other little ones.