Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed.
Lamps are different, but light is the same.
Let the Beloved be a hat pulled down firmly on my head.
Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.
I want a heart which is split, part by part, because of the pain of separation from God, so that I might explain my longing and complaint to it.
The miracle of Jesus is himself, not what he said or did.