True love begins when nothing is looked for in return.

What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.

She knew this man's smile, his gentle ways of love, but not his godlike fury in the storm. She might snare him in a fragile net of music, love and flowers, but, at each departure, he would break forth without, it seemed to her, the least regret.

Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.

A chief is a man who assumes responsibility. He says 'I was beaten,' he does not say 'My men were beaten.'

He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even any sound.

In giving you are throwing a bridge across the chasm of your solitude.