No, we don't accomplish our love in a single year as the flowers do; an immemorial sap flows up through our arms when we love. Dear girl, this: that ….

most people come to know only one corner of their room, one spot near the window, one narrow strip on which they keep walking back and forth..

More unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life..

Here is the time for the sayable, here is its home. Speak and attest. More than ever the things we can live with are falling away, and ousting them, ….

The thought of being a creator, of engendering, of shaping is nothing without the continuous great confirmation and embodiment in the world, nothing ….

Take your well-disciplined strengths, stretch them between the two great opposing poles, because inside human beings is where God learns..

What we do battle with is so small, what battles us is so large..

The artist's task consists of making one thing of many, and a world from the smallest part of a thing..

you are not too old and it is not too late to dive into your increasing depths where life calmly gives out it's own secret.

Your preparation for the real world is not in the answers you’ve learned, but in the questions you’ve learned how to ask yourself..

Poetic power is great, strong as a primitive instinct; it has its own unyielding rhythms in itself and breaks out as out of mountains..

Everything that makes more of you than you have ever been, even in your best hours, is right. Every intensification is good..

Solitude is nothing that one can choose or retrain from. We are solitary. We can delude ourselves about this and act as if it were not true. That is ….

And when suddenly the god stopped her and, with anguish in his cry, uttered the words: ‘He has turned round’ – she comprehended nothing and said soft….

Someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one….

Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor future lessens . . . . Superabundant existence wells in my heart..

My life is not this steeply sloping hour, in which you see me hurrying. Much stands behind me; I stand before it like a tree; I am only one of my man….

And yet, for some time now I have believed that it is our own force, all our own force that is still too great for us. It is true we do not know it; ….

Live the questions now..

Think... of the world you carry within you, and call this thinking whatever you want to: a remembering of your own childhood or a yearning toward a f….

I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open..