I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.

It were much better that a sentient being should never have existed, than that it should have existed only to endure unmitigated misery.

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality.

How wonderful is death! Death and his brother sleep.

Just a tender sense of my own process, that holds something of my connection with the divine.

A dream has power to poison sleep.

The thoughts which the word "God" suggests to the human mind are susceptible of as many variations as human minds themselves.