Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
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Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.
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It is such a secret place, the land of tears.
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Only the unknown frightens men. But once a man has faced the unknown, that terror becomes the known.
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The notion of looking on at life has always been hateful to me. What am I if I am not a participant? In order to be, I must participate.
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A civilization is built on what is required of men, not on that which is provided for them.
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Charity never humiliated him who profited from it, nor ever bound him by the chains of gratitude, since it was not to him but to God that the gift was made.
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A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.
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What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.