Our memory is childish and it saves only what we need.

What is this enigmatic impulse that does not allow one to settle down in the achieved, the finished? I think it is a quest for reality.

Forget the suffering You caused others. Forget the suffering Others caused you. The waters run and run, Springs sparkle and are done, You walk the earth you are forgetting.

When I die, I will see the lining of the world. The other side, beyond bird, mountain, sunset.

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

If I am all mankind, are they themselves without me?

The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth.