Of all my books, I find only a few indispensible.

You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.

Fame — the aggregate of all the misunderstandings that collect around a new name.

If your everyday life appears to be unworthy subject matter, do not complain to life. Complain to yourself, Lament that you are not poet enough to call up its wealth.

Let everything happen to you Beauty and terror Just keep going No feeling is final

What do the contours of your body mean, laid out like the lines on a hand, so that I no longer see them except as fate?

I feel it now: there's a power in me to grasp and give shape to my world I know that nothing has ever been real without my beholding it. All becoming has need me.