Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself.

We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.