Wayfarer, the only way is your footsteps, there is no other. Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way- Only foam trails to the sea.

The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.

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.

Only a fool thinks price and value are the same.

Death is something we don't have to fear, since as long as we exist death doesn't and when it does we don't.

Has my heart gone to sleep? Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel of the mind run dry, scoops turning empty, only shadow inside? No, my heart is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. Not asleep, not dreaming— its eyes are opened wide watching distant signals, listening on the rim of vast silence

The unpublished manuscript is like an uncon-fessed sin that festers in the soul, corrupting and contaminating it.