For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks." Thus I became a madman.

As the strings of a lute are apart though they quiver the same music.

We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting

For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

If you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work.

The brooks flow to their lover, the sea, and the flowers smile at the object of their passion, the light. The mist rolls down to its beloved, the valley. And I? In me is what brooks do not know, what flowers do not hear, what the mist does not apprehend. You see me alone in my love, solitary in my yearning.

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