The poet is an untier of knots, and love without words is a knot, and it drowns.

Many things can wait. Children cannot. Today their bones are being formed, their blood is being made, their senses are being developed. To them we cannot say "tomorrow." Their name is today.

For me, religiosity is ... the constant remembrance of the presence of the soul.

Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best.

Speech is our second possession, after the soul-and perhaps we have no other possession in this world.

You shall create beauty not to excite the senses but to give sustenance to the soul.

A crippled child Said, "How shall I dance?" Let your heart dance We said. Then the invalid said: "How shall I sing?" Let your heart sing We said Then spoke the poor dead thistle, "But I, how shall I dance?" Let your heart fly to the wind We said. Then God spoke from above "How shall I descend from the blue?" Come dance for us here in the light We said. All the valley is dancing Together under the sun, And the heart of him who joins us not Is turned to dust, to dust.