Love your enemies, for they determine who you are.
The god you worship is the one you're capable of becoming.
For the bliss of the deep abode is not lightly abandoned in favor of the self-scattering of the wakened state.
What's made up in the head is the fiction. What comes out of the heart is a myth.
The seizure of passionate love can be, in such a context, only illicit, breaking in upon the order of one's dutiful life in virtue as a devastating storm.
What each must seek in his life never was on land or sea. It is something out of his own unique potentiality for experience, something that never has been and never could have been experienced by anyone else.