Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt - marvellous error! - That it was God I had here inside my heart.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. (Walk, there is no path, the path is made by walking.)

My soul is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its eyes wide open far-off things, and listens at the shores of the great silence.

Mankind owns four things that are no good at sea: rudder, anchor, oars and the fear of going down.

Hell is the bloodcurdling mansion of time, in whose profoundest circle Satan himself waits, winding a gargantuan watch in his hand.

I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits