To all that is used-up, and to all the muffled and dumb creatures in the world's full reserve, the unsayable sums, joyfully add yourself, and cancel the count.

I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world.

If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing . . . then you are a writer.

Perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart.

Understand, I'll slip quietly away from the noisy crowd when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks. I'll pursue solitary pathways through the pale twilit meadows with only this one dream: You come too.

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