Dreams provide a kind of wisdom of the heart, an echoing voice of a profound human sensitivity too often lost to us in the reasonable life of days.

Sometimes life seems like a poorly designed cage within which man has been sentenced to be free.

Transformations require that we let go of familiar ways of doing things, without yet knowing what we will do next.

In the long run we get no more than we have been willing to risk giving.

So it is that there is nothing to be taught, but yet there is something to be learned.

If I reveal myself without worrying about how others will respond, then some will care, though others may not. But who can love me, if no one knows me? I must risk it, or live alone.

To live without the creative potential of our own destructiveness is to be a cardboard angel.