Harshness vanished. A sudden softness has replaced the meadows' wintry grey. Little rivulets of water changed their singing accents. Tendernesses, hesitantly, reach toward the earth from space, and country lanes are showing these unexpected subtle risings that find expression in the empty trees.

Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

Nothing strange should befall us, but only that which has long belonged to us. We will gradually learn to realize that that which we call destiny goes forth from within people, not from without into them.

Swells, Marina? we ocean, depths, Marina? we sky!

I believe that nothing that is real can pass away.

Your life will still find its own paths from there, and that they may be good, rich, and wide is what I wish for you, more than I can say.

Poetic power is great, strong as a primitive instinct; it has its own unyielding rhythms in itself and breaks out as out of mountains.