Sing me a new song; the world is transfigured; all the Heavens are rejoicing.

What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we do…?

Rejoicing in our joy, not suffering over our suffering, makes someone a friend.

This world, the eternally imperfect, the eternal and imperfect image of a contradiction – an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator – that is what I once thought the world.

There is not enough religion in the world to destroy the world's religions

Only as an aesthetic phenomenon is the world justified.