the longer I live, the more necessary it seems to me to endure, to copy the whole dictation of existence to the end, for it might be that only the last sentence contains that small, perhaps inconspicuous word through which all laboriously learned and not understood orients itself toward glorious sense.

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.

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.

only someone who is ready for everything, who doesn't exclude any experience, even the most incomprehensible, will live the relationship with another person as something alive and will himself sound the depths of his own being.

Now for some heartwork.

Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable, there we also stand always already quite near its transformation.

Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.