Isn’t it time that, loving, we freed ourselves from the beloved, and, trembling, endured:as the arrow endures the bow, so as to be, in its flight, something more than itself?

Every angel is terrifying.

For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terrorwhich we are barely able to endure, and it amazes us so, because it serenely disdains to destroy us.Every angel is terrible.

For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror.

Isn't it time that, in love, we freed ourselves from the loved one and, trembling, endured:as the arrow endures the string, collecting itselfto be more than itself as it shoots?

Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor futurelessens . . . . Superabundant existencewells in my heart.

We only pass everything by like a transposition of air.

Here at the edges, in the cracks and at the crossroads, stepping from shadow to shadow in the river of darkness that runs through the heart of Wink, he feels much more at home.

Can we not interpret our adult wisdom into the language of boyhood?

Life is too short for men to take it seriously.

I grew up like a boy, also because most of the children who came to our house were boys.

Everything I experience influences everything I do.

The Wisdom is old, the Koran is old, the Bible is old. Disagreements? Work 'em out.

I don't miss a day of yoga. I don't miss my meditation... They're way more important.

Unfortunately, nature seems unaware of our intellectual need for convenience and unity, and very often takes delight in complication and diversity.

Where had I been that I didn't know about imaginary friends? I could see the point of it. How a lost part of yourself steps out and remind you who you could be with a little work.