“Write. Write until it stops hurting.”

The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.

Nature forms us for ourselves, not for others; to be, not to seem.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.

I love your silences, they are like mine.

We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.

Your eyes make me shy.

Sometimes we reveal ourselves when we are least like ourselves.

Compassion for our parents is the true sign of maturity.

I believe the lasting revolution comes from deep changes in ourselves which influence our collective life.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.

I want to do things so wild with you that I don’t know how to say them.

Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.

I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically.

Dreams are necessary to life.