False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

With begging and scrambling we find very little, but with being true to ourselves we find a great deal more.

Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house—do not pass by like a dream.

To find God, you must welcome everything.

My Friend: Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair. I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend! I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path! By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

The birth and death of leaves is part of that greater cycle that moves among the stars.

‎This I know... That often when I sang, and drummed, and danced, I found my eternity.