Already since then the feelings were those that should've remained for ever: the uncertainty of his own worth, a constant oscillating between self-esteem and dejection, between an idealism which lied above al worldly matter and a natural appetite of the senses, and now as then, even a hundred times later did I see those traits in my nature sometimes as a despicable illness, and sometimes as a sign of worth.
My God, explain me love how you can love the flesh without kissing the spirit.
Be free yourself... Rebel yourself! Be always yourself... Die!... with awareness to have lived!
If everyone worked to earn their own bread and nothing more, there would be enough bread and free time for all... Our needs would reduce to the minimum, our food would simplefy itself. So we would eat to live, intead of living for eating.
Your soul will find peace finally... down there where the sea and the sky will interlace their way.
Pain is the real beauty: the mask, its essence to the others blind eyes.
Sun and moon cyclically interchange each other, like light and shadow into my soul. And so I'm perpetually sunny and damned moody. I hate life in the same way that I love death.
Walking outside, at night, under the silent sky, along a rivulet that runs quietly, it is always something full of mistery, and moves the abyss of the soul...
The soul helps the body, and at certain moments raises it. It is the only bird that sustains its cage.
Behind lives sublime, there is always something tragic. Large trials are needed because a tiny flower can flourish.