Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.

What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

All uncertainty is fruitfull ... so long as it is accompanied by the wish to understand

The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine. "In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path. . .

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

Beyond living and dreaming there is something more important: waking up.