I sit at my window gazing The world passes by, nods to me And is gone.

In death the many become one; in life the one become many.

The fundamental desire of life is the desire to exist.

The Great Morning which is for all, rises in the East.

The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth

The infinite being has assumed unto himself the mystery of finitude. And in him who is love the finite and the infinite are made one.

If someone smells a flower and says he does not understand, the reply to him is: there is nothing to understand, it is only a scent. If he persists, saying: that I know, but what does it all mean? Then one has either to change the subject, or make it more abstruse by saying that the scent is the shape which the universal joy takes in the flower.