What could be more convincing, moreover, than the gesture of laying one's cards face up on the table?

Love means giving something you don't have to someone who doesn't want it.

All sorts of things in this world behave like mirrors.

What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?

The I is always in the field of the Other.

I think where I am not, therefore I am where I do not think. I am not whenever I am the plaything of my thought; I think of what I am where I do not think to think.

Meaning is produced not only by the relationship between the signifier and the signified but also, crucially, by the position of the signifiers in relation to other signifiers.

The reason we go to poetry is not for wisdom, but for the dismantling of wisdom

The only thing of which one can be guilty is of having given ground relative to one's desire.

The real is what resists symbolization absolutely.

The unconscious is the discourse of the Other.

Never live at the mercy of people because they can run out of mercy when you needed them the most.

You cannot truly love yourself if you are constantly surrounded by clutter, chaos and bitterness. The time has come for you to de-clutter your mind and your environment.

There two separates world

I never understand why all of us are so stupid. All the time we nurse our spurious and witless ego, while looking deep down inside that we cannot live without talking to our loved ones.

To be one's self, and unafraid whether right or wrong, is more admirable than the easy cowardice of surrender to conformity.

If you were an optimistic teen, then you'll be an optimist at 80. People's reactions to bad events are highly stable over a half century or more.

Keep your sense of humor. There's enough stress in the rest of your life not to let bad shots ruin a game you're supposed to enjoy.

The heavens call to you, and circle about you, displaying to you their eternal splendors, and your eye gazes only to earth.

I'm not a painter who's saying, "I want people to see my work when I die; it will be this and that." That's not satisfying to me.

A line is a fuse that's lit. The line smolders, the rhyme explodes— and by a stanza a city is blown to bits.