The necessary thing is after all but this; solitude, great inner solitude. Going into oneself for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain.

we are continually overflowing toward those who preceded us, toward our origin, and toward those who seemingly come after us. ... It is our task to imprint this temporary, perishable earth into ourselves so deeply, so painfully and passionately, that its essence can rise again “invisibly,” inside us. We are the bees of the invisible. We wildly collect the honey of the visible, to store it in the great golden hive of the invisible.

It is part of the nature of every definitive love that sooner or later it can reach the beloved only in infinity.

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

Rose, oh pure contradiction, joy of being No-one's sleep under so many lids.

Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.

And these things that keep alive on departure know that you praise them; transient, they look to us, the most transient, to be their rescue. They want us to change them completely, in our invisible hearts, into -- O endlessly -- us! Whoever, finally, we may be.