I believe in the magic and authority of words.

LONG LIVE...

This country is but a wish of the spirit, a counter-sepulcher.

In my country, tender proofs of spring and badly dressed birds are preferred to far-off goals.

Truth waits for dawn beside a candle. Window glass is neglected. To the watchful, what does it matter?

In my country, we don't question a man deeply moved.

There is no malignant shadow on the capsized boat.

A cool hello is unknown in my country.

We borrow only what can be returned increased.

There are leaves, many leaves, on the trees in my country. The branches are free to bear no fruits.

We don't believe in the good faith of the victor.

In my country, we say thank you.

Desire, desire which knows, we draw no advantage from our shadows except from some veritable sovereignties accompanied by invisible flames, invisible chains, which, coming to light, step after step, cause us to shine.

You only fight well for causes you yourself have shaped, with which you identify—and burn.

The reading of all good books is like conversation with the finest men of past centuries.

It is not whether your words or actions are tough or gentle; it is the spirit behind your actions and words that announces your inner state.