If we were to all sit in a circle and confess our sins, we would laugh at each other for lack of originality.

In every winter's heart there is a quivering spring, and behind the veil of each night there is a shining dawn.

Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.

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

Many of us spend our whole lives running from feeling with the mistaken belief that you can not bear the pain. But you have already borne the pain. What you have not done is feel all you are beyond that pain.

I am bored with gabbers and their gab; my soul abhors them. . . . Is there any place where there is no traffic in empty talk? Is there on this earth one who does not worship himself talking?

Know, therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return... Forget not that I shall come back to you... A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.