I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.

Emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea.

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.

I am a collection of dismantled almosts.

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.

Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.

Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.

O starry night, This is how I want to die

O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.

Maktub" (It is written.)

But plants grow again, " She murmured, focusing on the verdant beauty around her. "They put down new roots, create room for themselves in foreign soil.

Your smile breaks my heart, And your laughter burns my skin, And if I had to tell you how I feel, That's where I'd begin.

As a child, I was afraid of the dark and the monsters on the outside.As a man, I run away from the light, afraid to show the monsters within.

The ritual works. The forms overcome doubts. We have learned over the centuries to weave meaning around emptiness and pain. A meaning and a pattern. We have been practising that for a very long time.

Work done is of more consequence for the future than the foresight of an angel.

Not as much as it bothers me that you just grabbed me without even trying to warn me first. If you’re trying to undo ages of prejudice, maybe you should start by acting civil.

Let us recognize the beauty and power of true enthusiasm; and whatever we may do to enlighten ourselves and others, guard against checking or chilling a single earnest sentiment.

Everyone who plays the flute should learn singing.

I have become an orchid washed in on the salt white beach. Memory, what can I make of it now that might please you- this life, already wasted and still strewn with miracles?