A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland.

How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.

The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

The tears that you spill, the sorrowful, are sweeter than the laughter of snobs and the guffaws of scoffers.

Love is a gracious host to his guests though to the unbidden his house is a mirage and a mockery.

Our worst fault is our preoccupation with the faults of others.

Make me, oh God, the prey of the Lion, ere you make the rabbit my prey