“When we say something about something, we make it lie there before us, which means at the same time to make it appear.”

A resounding of the authentic word can arise only from silence.

The most thought-provoking thing in our thought-provoking time is that we are still not thinking.

Why is love beyond all measure of other human possibilities so rich and such a sweet burden for the one who has been struck by it? Because we change ourselves into that which we love, and yet remain ourselves.

The poets are in the vanguard of a changed conception of Being.

The human being is not the lord of beings, but the shepherd of Being.

He who thinks great thoughts often makes great errors.

There is no such thing as an empty word, only one that is worn out yet remains full.

No historical movement can leap outside of history and start from scratch.

All questions that do justice to the subject are themselves bridges to their own answering.

Being is essentially different from a being, from beings.

The meeting of the solitary ones can happen only in solitude.

Expelled from the truth of Being, man everywhere circles around himself as the animal rationale.

Mere anxiety is the source of everything.

The god wholly other than past ones and especially other than the Christian one.

On this “way,” if to keep falling down and getting up can be called a way.

Immersing ourselves in art and the immeasurable through being allows us a more truthful experience of the world.

As I’ve gotten older, I like longer dresses, but my legs come up to my ears, and I’m not very tall, so when I wear a short skirt,I’ve got to be really conscious.

If the world really looks like that I will paint no more!

A girl told me my lips looked like somebody had pressed strawberry yogurt against my face.

In L.A., I’m twice the size – height and everything else – of most of the other actresses who are going for an audition.

I’m excited to be home, not wear makeup, and wear onesies.

I’ve been afraid to look at the woman in the mirror. Everyday she looks less and less like me. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever find my way back home.

Each finite creature can reflect only a fraction of the divine nature; thus, in the diversity of His creatures, God’s infinity, unity and oneness appear to be broken into an effulfgence of manifold rays.

Without the fog, London would not be a beautiful city. It is fog that gives it its magnificent amplitude its regular and massive blocks become grandiose in that mysterious mantle.