In the end, just three things matter: How well we have lived. How well we have loved. How well we have learned to let go.
Today I love myself as I love my god: who could charge me with a sin today? I know only sins against my god but who knows my god?
Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.
If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.
The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.