O how all things are far removed and long have passed away. I do believe the star, whose light my face reflects, is dead and has been so for many thousand years. I had a vision of a passing boat and heard some voices saying disquieting things. I heard a clock strike in some distant house... but in which house?... I long to quiet my anxious heart and stand beneath the sky's immensity. I long to pray... And one of all the stars must still exist. I do believe that I would know which one alone endured, and which like a white city stands at the ray's end shining in the heavens.

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.

You must think that something is happening upon you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall.

Everything that makes more of you than you have ever been, even in your best hours, is right. Every intensification is good.

If my devils are to leave me, I'm afraid my angels will take flight as well.

Your preparation for the real world is not in the answers you’ve learned, but in the questions you’ve learned how to ask yourself.

But because truly being here is so much; because everything here apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.