We Are All Geniuses When We Dream.

He Who Hates Himself Is Not Humble.

We Die In Proportion To The Words We Fling Around Us.

What Does The Future, That Half Of Time, Matter To The Man Who Is Infatuated With Eternity?

The Amount Of Chiaroscuro An Idea Harbors Is The Only Index Of Its Profundity.

I Was Walking Late One Night Along A Tree-lined Path; A Chestnut Fell At My Feet. The Noise It Made As It Burst, The Resonance It Provoked In Me, And An Upheaval Out Of All Proportion To This Insignificant Event Thrust Me Into Miracle, Into The Rapture Of The Definitive, As If There Were No More Questions-only Answers. I Was Drunk On A Thousand Unexpected Discoveries, None Of Which I Could Make Use Of. ... This Is How I Nearly Reached The Supreme. But Instead I Went On With My Walk.