To beauty, all is forgiven, even vulgarity. Intelligence no longer seems an adequate compensation for things.

When someone that you love dies..it's like fireworks suddenly burning out in the sky and everything going black.

People aim for the stars, and they end up like goldfish in a bowl. I wonder if it wouldn't be simpler just to teach children right from the start that life is absurd.

There's so much humanity in a love of trees, so much nostalgia for our first sense of wonder, so much power in just feeling our own insignificance when we are surrounded by nature.

Personally I think that grammar is a way to attain beauty.

That's what the future is for: to build the present, with real plans, made by living people.

I thought: pity the poor in spirit who know neither the enchantment nor the beauty of language.

We think we can make honey without sharing in the fate of bees, but we are in truth nothing but poor bees, destined to accomplish our task and then die.

With the exception of love, friendship and the beauty of Art, I don't see much else that can nurture human life.

The real ordeal is not leaving those you love but learning to live without those who don't love you.

When tea becomes ritual, it takes place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things.

Don't look to a husband or a child or a friend or your family to make you happy. It is not within their capacity to do so.

What you mean to me is something out of the ordinary, cause even a whole of a dictionary won't be able to describe it!

Every morning we begin our new life with new joy. So let it be beautiful.

Our humanity consists in our ability to sense and respect and respond to the humanity of others.

You're picky about the car you drive. You're picky about what you wear. You're picky about what you put in your mouth. We want you to be pickier about what you think.

If I only did what I can do, I wouldn't do anything

Never underestimate your own capacity to care.

The woods always look different at night...as if the daytime trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their places.

Photography, like alcohol, should only be allowed to those who can do without it.

Love goes toward love.