The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.

Go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows.

Thus we live, forever taking leave.

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

Do you remember how life yearned out of childhood toward the "great thing?" I see that it is now yearning forth beyond the great thing toward the greater one.

Here is the time for the sayable, here is its home. Speak and attest. More than ever the things we can live with are falling away, and ousting them, filling their place, a will with no image. Will beneath crusts which readily crack whenever the act inside swells and seeks new borders.

The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise.