Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, seperate, in the evening.

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

The necessary thing is after all but this; solitude, great inner solitude. Going into oneself for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain.

Life is cut to allow for growth ... one may vigorously put on weight before one fills it out entirely.

Often a star was waiting for you to notice it. A wave rolled toward you out of the distant path, or as you walked under an open window, a violin yielded itself to your hearing. All this was mission.

Fame is the sum of the misunderstanding that gathers about a new name.

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?