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

I am touched by your beautiful anxiety about life.

There is only one journey. Going inside yourself.

Be, in this immensity of night, the magic force at your sense's crossroad.

Irony: Don't let yourself be controlled by it, especially during uncreative moments.

We wasters of sorrows! How we stare away into sad endurance beyond them, trying to foresee their end! Whereas they are nothing else than our winter foliage, our sombre evergreen, one of the seasons of our interior year.

So it's back once more, back up the slope. Why do they always ruin my rope with their cuts? I felt so ready the other day, Had a real foretaste of eternity In my guts. Spoonfeeding me yet another sip from life's cup. I don't want it, won't take any more of it. Let me throw up. Life is medium rare and good, I see, And the world full of soup and bread, But it won't pass into the blood for me, Just goes to my head. It makes me ill, though others it feeds; Do see that I must deny it! For a thousand years from now at least I'm keeping a diet.