The past is always with us, for nothing that once was time can ever depart.
Truth reveals itself in beauty.
And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.
Do not blame the food because you have no appetite.
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 . . .
The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy.