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

The only journey is the one within.

We need, in love, to practice only this: letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it.

But suppose the endlessly dead were to wake in us some emblem: they might point to the catkins hanging from the empty hazel trees, or direct us to the rain descending on black earth in early spring. --- And we, who always think of happiness rising, would feel the emotion that almost baffles us when a happy thing falls.

You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world, for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone, and then no one outside learns of you. But the darkness pulls in everything: shapes and fires, animals and myself, how easily it gathers them! - powers and people - and it is possible a great energy is moving near me. I have faith in nights.

Learn to love the questions themselves.

Is not impermanence the very fragrance of our days?