All the suns labor to kindle your flame and a microbe puts it out.
It's been a long time since I asked anything of heaven, and my arms still haven't come down.
My poverty is not complete: it lacks me.
Almost always it is the fear of being ourselves that brings us to the mirror.
The real "it is well" is something I say from the ground, having fallen.
That in man which cannot be domesticated is not his evil but his goodness.