Destiny itself is like a wonderful wide tapestry in which every thread is guided by an unspeakable tender hand, placed beside another thread and held and carried by a hundred others.

May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children.

The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.

In the difficult are the friendly forces, the hands that work on us.

It was not in me It came and went I wanted to hold it It was held by wine (I no longer know what it was)

Perhaps everything terrifying is deep down a helpless thing that needs our help.

We make our way through Everything like thread passing through fabric, giving shape to images that we ourselves do not know.