A secret, if it's kept, can be sweet and comforting, but once it leaks out it can turn on you with a vengeance.

The winter moon becomes a companion, the heart of the priest, sunk in meditation upon religion and philosophy, there in the mountain hall, is engaged in a delicate interplay and exchange with the moon; and it is this of which the poet sings.

They were words that came out of nothing, but they seemed to him somehow significant. He muttered them over again.

But, drawn to her at that moment, he felt a quiet like the voice of the rain flow over him. He knew well enough that for her it was in fact no waste of effort, but somehow the final determination that it was had the effect of distilling and purifying the woman's existence.

Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words.

Does pain go away and leave no trace, then?’ ‘You sometimes even feel sentimental for it.

It's remarkable how we go on year after year, doing the same old things. We get tired and bored, and ask when they'll come for us