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

I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.

sometimes a man stands up during supper and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking, because of a church that stands somewhere in the East. And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead. And another man, who remains inside his own house, stays there, inside the dishes and in the glasses, so that his children have to go far out into the world toward that same church, which he forgot.

It is true that these mysteries are dreadful, and people have always drawn away from them. But where can we find anything sweet and glorious that would never wear this mask, the mask of the dreadful? Whoever does not, sometimes or other, give his full consent, his full and joyous consent to the dreadfulness of life, can never take possession of the unutterable abundance and power of our existence; can only walk on its edge, and one day, when the judgment is given, will have been neither alive nor dead.

Dig deep into your heart, where the answer spreads its roots in your being, and ask yourself solemnly, Must I write?

Somewhere there is an ancient enmity between our daily life and the great work. Help me in saying it, to understand it.

Trees do not force their sap, nor does the flower push its bloom.