Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through.

To withhold from living is to die ... the more you give of yourself to life the more life nourishes you.

Write. Write until it stops hurting.

it was while helping others to be free that I gained my own freedom.

It is possible I never learned the names of birds in order to discover the bird of peace, the bird of paradise, the bird of the soul, the bird of desire. It is possible I avoided learning the names of composers and their music the better to close my eyes and listen to the mystery of all music as an ocean. It may be I have not learned dates in history in order to reach the essence of timelessness. It may be I never learned geography the better to map my own routes and discover my own lands. The unknown was my compass. The unknown was my encyclopedia. The unnamed was my science and progress.

Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.

I love your silences, they are like mine. You are the only being before whom I am not distressed by my own silences. You have a vehement silence, one feels it is charged with essences, it is a strangely alive silence, like a trap open over a well, from which one can hear the secret murmur of the earth itself.