A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.

We are the bees of the invisible. We madly gather the honey of the visible to store it in the great golden hive of the invisible.

Be out of sync with your times for just one day, and you will see how much eternity you contain within you.

The sky puts on the darkening blue coat held for it by a row of ancient trees; you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight, one journeying to heaven, one that falls; and leave you, not at home in either one, not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses, not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes a star each night, and rises; and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel) your life, with its immensity and fear, so that, now bounded, now immeasurable it is alternately stone in you and star.

As the arrow endures the string, and in the gathering momentum becomes more than itself. Because to stay is to be nowhere.

Everything that makes more of you than you have ever been, even in your best hours, is right. Every intensification is good.

Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.