Love is when the soul starts to sing and the flowers of your life bloom on their own.

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 . . .

There is a point where in the mystery of existence contradictions meet; where movement is not all movement and stillness is not all stillness; where the idea and the form, the within and the without, are united; where infinite becomes finite, yet not losing its infinity. If this meeting is dissolved, then things become unreal.

The real frienship is like fluorescence, it shines better when everything has darken.

Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.

Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in thesky.

That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life.