Is not the beautiful moon, that inspires poets, the same moon which angers the silence of the sea with a terrible roar?

Sayings remain meaningless until they are embodied in habits.

if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing

I use hate as a weapon to defend myself; had I been strong, I would never have needed that kind of weapon.

A traveller I am, and a navigator, and everyday I discover a new region within my soul.

If it were not for guests all houses would be graves.

Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness.