“Every day I observe more and more the folly of judging of others by ourselves; and I have so much trouble with myself, and my own heart is in such constant agitation, that I am well content to let others pursue their own course, if they only allow me the same privilege.”

When scholars study a thing, they strive to kill it first, if it’s alive; then they have the parts and they’ve lost the whole, for the link that’s missing was the living soul.

Oblivion is full of people who allow the opinions of others to overrule their belief in themselves.

Be above it! Make the world serve your purpose, but do not serve it!

Every reader, if he has a strong mind, reads himself into the book, and amalgamates his thoughts with those of the author.

What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals.

Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being.

I am not omniscient, but I know a lot.

The rich want good wine, the poor, plenty of wine.

What a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to lay hold of it!

Is this the destiny of man? Is he only happy before he has acquired his reason or after he has lost it?

Instruction does much, but encouragement everything.

Few people have the imagination for reality.

There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action.

In the colorful reflection we have what is life.

Leap and the net will appear.

We are never deceived; we deceive ourselves.

Perhaps the best medicine to cure a sad heart is to take a break and go to the mountains without an internet connection.

If words could scatter flesh the way it feels inside the heart i’d be holding up the walls in the house of our goodbye.

You have always been able to manipulate my heart in such a way that even though I’m bleeding, I offer you band aids that are holding me together.

Let the moon teach you the art of scars. How beautiful you can shine, even with craters in your heart.

She plucked a feather from her magnificent wings and dipped it in ink. She wrote poems bled from her scars guided straight from the depths of her heart.

The heart is foolish perhaps that’s why it falls in love, even after its hurt.

Don’t be afraid of the heat, it’s just the fire blazing inside my heart. I can warm up the room and thaw away at the bitter and cold parts of you.

Often all we can do is breathe, even that can be hard sometimes.