Do not, do not, do not books for ever hammer at people like perpetual bells? When, between two books, silent sky appears: be glad

Fame is the sum of the misunderstanding that gathers about a new name.

Swells, Marina? we ocean, depths, Marina? we sky!

Someday you will name me, then gently place those burning holy roses in my hair.

Whoever you are, go out into the evening, leaving your room, of which you know every bit; your house is the last before the infinite, whoever you are.

I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I have been circling for a thousand years, and I still don't know if I am a falcon, or a storm, or a great song.

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