All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.

The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.

The key to seeing the world's soul, and in the process wakening our own, is to get over the confusion by which we think that fact is real and imagination is illusion.

It is only through mystery and madness that the soul is revealed.

When we relate to our bodies as having soul, we attend to their beauty, their poetry and their expressiveness. Our very habit of treating the body as a machine, whose muscles are like pulleys and its organs engines, forces its poetry underground, so that we experience the body as an instrument and see its poetics only in illness.