There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.
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The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.
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Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed; to kindness, to knowledge we make promise only; pain we obey.
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What a profound significance small things assume when the woman we love conceals them from us.
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Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
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People wish to learn to swim and at the same time to keep one foot on the ground.
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It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's bed and there, abandoning all effort and all resistance, to bury even one's head under the cover, giving one's self up to it completely, moaning like branches in the autumn wind. But there is still a better bed, full of divine odors. It is our sweet, our profound, our impenetrable friendship.
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Everything great in the world comes from neurotics. They alone have founded our religions and composed our masterpieces.
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Things don't change, but by and by our wishes change.
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All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.
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A powerful idea communicates some of its strength to him who challenges it.
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