When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing.

A thousand policemen directing traffic cannot tell you why you come or where you go.

History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors and issues.

You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; They called me the hyacinth girl.' —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer.

With out some kind of god, man is not very intresting

Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman -But who is that on the other side of you?