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.
There are only two kinds of freedom in the world; the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the artist and the monk who renounces possessions.
We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.
Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.
We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are.