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Danh ngôn của Joseph Roux (Sứ mệnh: 7)

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.
When unhappy, one doubts everything; when happy, one doubts nothing.
Solitude vivifies; isolation kills.
The happiness which is lacking makes one think even the happiness one has unbearable.
Poetry is the exquisite expression of exquisite expressions.
A fine quotation is a diamond in the hand of a man of wit and a pebble in the hand of a fool.
Science is for those who learn, poetry is for those who know.
Our experience is composed rather of illusions lost than of wisdom acquired.
Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.