One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
It is difficult to suddenly give up a long love. Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem
Who now travels that dark path from whose bourne they say no one returns. [Lat. , Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum Illue unde negant redire quemquam. ]
What woman says to fond lover should be written on air or the swift water. [Lat. , Mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua. ]
I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two.
It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
Real filth is the one inside. The rest simply washes off. There is only one type of dirt that cannot be cleansed with pure waters, and that is the stain of hatred and bigotry contaminating the soul. You can purify your body through abstinence and fasting, but only love will purify your heart.
No action is ever an isolated event. Always, it invites from the universe a reaction that corresponds exactly to the type and the force of energy behind the deed.
Many kids can tell you about drugs but do not know what celery or courgettes taste like.
When I look back on my life nowadays, which I sometimes do, what strikes me most forcibly about it is that what seemed at the time most significant and seductive, seems now most futile and absurd. For instance, success in all of its various guises; being known and being praised; ostensible pleasures, like acquiring money or seducing women, or traveling, going to and fro in the world and up and down in it like Satan, exploring and experiencing whatever Vanity Fair has to offer. In retrospect all these exercises in self-gratification seem pure fantasy, what Pascal called “licking the earth.