When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don’t seem to matter very much, do they?
What is nobler, than to be a woman to whom every one turns, in sorrow or difficulty?
Well, I really don’t advise a woman who wants to have things her own way to get married.
Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter’s evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.
If the best of one’s feelings means nothing to the person most concerned in those feelings, what reality is left us?
I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river; to me you’re everything that exists; the reality of everything.