Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.

What happens most deeply inside you is worthy of your whole love.

In one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love revive, filling it with sublimity and exaltation.

So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp.

All emotions are pure which gather you and lift you up; that emotion is impure which seizes only one side of your being and so distorts you.

I feel it now: there's a power in me to grasp and give shape to my world I know that nothing has ever been real without my beholding it. All becoming has need me.

Isn't it time that these most ancient sorrows of ours grew fruitful? Time that we tenderly loosed ourselves from the loved one, and, unsteadily, survived: the way the arrow, suddenly all vector, survives the string to be more than itself. For abiding is nowhere.