“Death is in truth an illness from which we recover”

There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.

Even though our lives wander, our memories remain in one place.

No man is a complete mystery except to himself.

When from a long distant past nothing subsists after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain.

We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world.

Truth is a point of view about things.

Desire makes everything blossom.

Sometimes in this life, under the stress of an exceptional emotion, people do say what they think.

When you work to please others you can’t succeed, but the things you do to satisfy yourself stand a chance of catching someone’s interest.

The only paradise is paradise lost.

One must never miss an opportunity of quoting things by others which are always more interesting than those one thinks up oneself.

Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.

Instead of seeking new landscapes, develop new eyes.

Dear Friend: I have nearly died three times since morning.

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.

Do not wait for life. Do not long for it. Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now.