“Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don’t know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.”

Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.

As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.

The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!

I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.

Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.

The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.

I could never throw Love out of the window.

True life is elsewhere.

To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.

A house is not a home unless it contains food and fire for the mind as well as the body.

Mr. Bean is essentially a child trapped in the body of a man. All cultures identify with children in a similar way, so he has this bizarre global outreach.

My body is my journal, and my tattoos are my story.

The truth is that we can learn to condition our minds, bodies, and emotions to link pain or pleasure to whatever we choose. By changing what we link pain and pleasure to, we will instantly change our behaviors.

It is very unfair to judge any body’s conduct, without an intimate knowledge of their situation.

Everybody needs beauty, places to play in and pray in where nature may heal and cheer and give strength to the body and soul alike.

We all dread a bodily paralysis, and would make use of every contrivance to avoid it; but none of us is troubled about a paralysis of the soul.