“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.

The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself.

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.