Those who deny the existence of the truth postulate the truth of their denial and plainly contradict themselves.

By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind sees the path

Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.

The unpublished manuscript is like an uncon-fessed sin that festers in the soul, corrupting and contaminating it.

And to walk through life in dreams out of love for the hand that guides us.

There is no road, the road is made by walking.

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