Blossoms are scattered by the wind and the wind cares nothing, but the blossoms of the heart no wind can touch.
“A book is simply the container of an idea like a bottle; what is inside the book is what matters.”
“So much of our lives is given over to the consideration of our imperfections that there is no time to improve our imaginary virtues. The truth is we only perfect our vices, and man is a worse creature when he dies than he was when he was born.”