A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

There are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue; They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

Solitude is a silent storm that breaks down all our dead branches; yet it sends our living roots deeper into the living heart of the living earth.

How distant I am from people when I am with them, and how close when they are far away.

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?