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.

For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday.

Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream.

Remember, one just man causes the Devil greater affliction than a million blind believers.

The poet is a bird of strange moods. He descends from his lofty domain to tarry among us, singing; if we do not honor him he will unfold his wings and fly back to his dwelling place.

He who passes not his days in the realm of dreams is the slave of the days.

A word I want to see written on my grave: I am alive like you, and I am standing beside you. Close your eyes and look around, you will see me in front of you.