That deed which in our guilt we today call weakness, will appear tomorrow as an essential link in the complete chain of Man.

Who can depart from his pain and aloneness without regret? Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. It is not a garment I cast off this day, bit a skin that I tear with my own hands... Yet I cannot tarry longer.

All work is empty save when there is love.

A sense of humour is a sense of proportion.

We fear death, yet we long for slumber and beautiful dreams.

Believing is a fine thing, but placing those beliefs into execution is a test of strength. Many are those who talk like the roar of the sea, gut their lives are shallow and stagnant, like the rotting marshes. Many are those who lift their heads above the mountain tops, but their spirits remain dormant in the obscurity of the caverns.

You, the strong, have I loved, though the marks of your iron hoofs are yet upon my flesh.