I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my child.

Mistakes live in the neighbourhood of truth and therefore delude us.

And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection.

The birds looked upon me as nothing but a man, quite a trifling creature without wings-and they would have nothing to do with me. Were it not so I would build a small cabin for myself among their crowd of nests and pass my days counting the sea waves.

The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart….. I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house….. But the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house; I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.

In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.