For sixty years I have been forgetful every minute, but not for a second has this flowing toward me stopped or slowed.

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First, to let go of life. In the end, to take a step without feet; to regard this world as invisible, and to disregard what appears to be the self. Heart, I said, what a gift it has been to enter this circle of lovers, to see beyond seeing itself, to reach and feel within the breast.

Hardship may dishearten at first, but every hardship passes away. All despair is followed by hope; all darkness is followed by sunshine.

One of the marvels of the world: The sight of a soul sitting in prison with the key in its hand.

My soul gave me good counsel, teaching me to love. Love was for me a delicate thread stretched between two adjacent pegs, but now it has been transformed into a halo, its first is its last, and its last is its first. It encompases every being, slowly expanding to embrace all that ever will be.

Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.

In the blackest of your moments, wait with no fear.