I am hidden in your heart, O Flower.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

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

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it.

We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.

Let it not be death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs. Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night. Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.

Faith is a bird that can see the light when it is dawn and starts singing in the dark.