What do the contours of your body mean, laid out like the lines on a hand, so that I no longer see them except as fate?

For bel.i.eve me, the more one is, the richer is all one experiences. And whoever wants to have deep love in his life must collect and save for it and gather honey.

Fame, that public destruction of one in process of becoming, into whose building-ground the mob breaks, displacing his stones.

Go into yourself and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept it, just as it sounds, without inquiring into it. Perhaps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside

Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, where no one can go any further.

O trees of life, O when are you wintering?We are not unified. We have no instinctslike those of migratory birds. Useless, and late,we force ourselves, suddenly, onto the wind,and fall down to an indifferent lake.We realise flowering and fading together.And somewhere lions still roam. Never knowing,as long as they have their splendour, of any weakness.

I don't want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.