Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

Love is space and time measured by the heart.

Love is a reciprocal torture.

Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed; to kindness, to knowledge, we make promise only; pain we obey.

It is in moments of illness that we are compelled to recognize that we live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom, whole worlds apart, who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body.

Three-quarters of the sicknesses of intelligent people come from their intelligence. They need at least a doctor who can understand this sickness.