I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.

You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world.

No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write, find out wether it spreading out its root in the deepest places of your heart...Delve into yourself for a deep answer

Fig tree, how long it's been full meaning for me, the way you almost entirely omit to flower and into the seasonably-resolute fruit uncelebratedly thrust your purest secret. Like the tube of a fountain, your bent bough drives the sap downwards and up: and it leaps from its sleep, scarce waking, into the joy of its sweetest achievement.

Joy is a marvelous increasing of what exists, a pure addition out of nothingness.

That is the principal thing-not to remain with the dream, with the intention, with the being-in-the-mood, but always forcibly to convert it all into things.

Embrace your solitude and love it. Endure the pain it causes, and try to sing out with it. For those near to you are distant.