How little we have, I thought, between us and the waiting cold, the mystery, death – a strip of beach, a hill, a few walls of wood or stone, a little fire – and tomorrow’s sun, rising and warming us, tomorrow’s hope of peace and better weather.

ONE must sometimes believe what one cannot understand. That is the method of the scientist as well as the mystic: faced with a universe which must be endless and infinite, he accepts it, although he cannot really imagine it. For there is no picture in our minds of infinity; somewhere, at the furthermost limits of thought, we never fail to plot its end. Yet – if there is no end? Or if, at the end, we are only back at the beginning again?

My duties led me into the darkest cellars as well as the most beautiful cathedrals; often I found the cellar illuminated with a holy light, and the cathedral dark.

She has a look,” I said, “of not altogether belonging to today.

Where I come from Nobody knows; And where I’m going Everything goes. The wind blows, The sea flows – And nobody knows.

There is no distance on this earth as far away as yesterday.

Give thanks for sorrow that teaches you pity; for pain that teaches you courage...

Give thanks for sorrow that teaches you pity; for pain that teaches you courage-and give exceedingly thanks for the mystery which remains a mystery still-the veil that hides you from the infinite, which makes it possible for you to believe in what you cannot see.

It seems to me that I have always wanted to say the same things in my books: that life is one, that mystery is all around us, that yesterday, today and tomorrow are all spread out in the pattern of eternity, together, and that although love may wear many faces in the incomprehensible panorama of time, in the heart that loves it is always the same.

Where I come from Nobody knows; And where I'm going Everything goes. The wind blows, The sea flows - And nobody knows.