In religions which have lost their creative spark, the gods eventually become no more than poetic motifs or ornaments for decorating human solitude and walls.
I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.
Nothing is nearer to us than heaven. The earth is beneath our feet, and we tread upon it, but heaven is within us.
God hates a half-devil ten times more than an arch-devil!
I knew that no matter what door you knock on in a Cretan village, it will be opened for you. A meal will be served in your honor, and you will sleep between the best sheets in the house. In Crete, the stranger is still the unknown god. Before him, all doors and all hearts are opened.
A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free.
