People who walk across dark bridges, past saints, with dim, small lights. Clouds which move across gray skies past churches with towers darkened in the dusk. One who leans against granite railing gazing into the evening waters, His hands resting on old stones.

Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.

there is nothing bad to fear; once you have crossed that threshold, all is well. Another world, and you do not have to speak

The Messiah will come only when he is no longer necessary, he will come only one day after his arrival, he will not come on the last day, but on the last day of all.

Our art is a way of being dazzled by truth: the light on the grotesquely grimacing retreating face is true, and nothing else.

Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.

A stair not worn hollow by footsteps is, regarded from its own point of view, only a boring something made of wood.