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Great mysteries inhabit the threshold of my being.

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We, all who live, haveA life that is livedAnd another life that is thought,And the only life we haveIt's the one that is dividedIn right or wrong.

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Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me!

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At the end of this day there remains what remained yesterday and what will remain tomorrow: the insatiable, unquantifiable longing to be both the same...more

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Is it that my habit of placing myself in the souls of other people makes me see myself as others see or would see me if they noticed my presence there...more

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My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I he...more

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My past is everything I failed to be.

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Our problem isn't that we're individualists. It's that our individualism is static rather than dynamic. We value what we think rather than what we do....more