There is no worse sickness for the soul, o you who are proud, than this pretense of perfection.
On a day when the wind is perfect, the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty. Today is such a day.
The result of my life is no more than three words: I was raw, I became cooked, I was burnt.
Love itself describes its own perfection. Be speechless and listen.
We can't help being thirsty, moving toward the voice of water.
Tis easy to break an idol, very easy: to regard the self as easy to subdue is folly, folly.