Across the moment, aeons speak with aeons. More than we experienced has gone by.

This is what the things can teach us: to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly.

Ah, how good it is to be among people who are reading!

I never read anything concerning my work. I feel that criticism is a letter to the public which the author, since it is not directed to him, does not have to open and read.

For our part, when we feel, we evaporate; ah, we breathe ourselves out and away; with each new heartfire we give off a fainter scent. True, someone may tell us: you're in my blood, this room, Spring itself is filled with you . . . To what end? He can't hold us, we vanish within him and around him.

I think of you often, dear, and with such concentrated wishes that it really must help you in some way.

And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.