I grow silent. Dear soul, you speak.

When a man makes up a story for his child, he becomes a father and a child together, listening.

There is my body, in it an ocean formed of his glory, all the creation, all the universes, all the galaxies, are lost in it.

Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall and falling, they're given wings.

I don’t regret how much I love, and I avoid those who repent their passion.

Do thou smile like the rose at loss and gain; For the rose, though its petals be torn asunder, Still smiles on, and it is never cast down.

This that is tormented and very tired, tortured with restraints like a madman, this heart.