Perhaps the old monks were right when they tried to root love out; perhaps the poets are right when they try to water it. It is a blood-red flower, with the color of sin; but there is always the scent of a god about it.
No good work is ever done while the heart is hot and anxious and fretted.
There was never a great man who had not a great mother.
Everything has two sides - the outside that is ridiculous, and the inside that is solemn.
Our fathers had their dreams; we have ours; the generation that follows will have its own. Without dreams and phantoms man cannot exist.