“Only solitary men know the full joys of frienship. Others have their family but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.”
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The miracles of the church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.
The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.
I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
Where there is great love, there are always wishes.
