Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.
I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.
Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.
I am the rest between two notes which are somehow always in discord.
It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything. I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning.
I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!
You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.
...a carefree letting go of oneself, not a caution, but a wise blindness.
You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything the darkness that comes with every infinite fall and the shivering blaze of every step up. So many live on and want nothing And are raised to the rank of prince By the slippery ease of their light judgments But what you love to see are faces that do work and feel thirst. You love most of all those who need you as they need a crowbar or a hoe. You have not grown old, and it is not too late To dive into your increasing depths where life calmly gives out its own secret.
But there is much beauty here, because there is much beauty everywhere.
If you will cling to Nature, to the simple in Nature, to the little things that hardly anyone sees, and that can so unexpectedly become big and beyond measuring; if you have this love of inconsiderable things and seek quite simply, as one who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier, more coherent and somehow more conciliatory for you, not in your intellect, perhaps, which lags marveling behind, but in your inmost consciousness, waking and cognizance.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror which we are barely able to endure, and it amazes us so, because it serenely disdains to destroy us. Every angel is terrible.
Every angel is terrifying.
But because truly being here is so much; because everything here apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.
Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.
All professions are... filled with demands.
There is time only to work slowly There is no time not to love
I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.
Every intensification is good, if it is in your entire blood, if it isn't intoxication or muddiness, but joy which you can see into, clear to the bottom.
The deepest experience of the creator is feminine, for it is experience of receiving and bearing.
If my devils are to leave me, I'm afraid my angels will take flight as well.
We are unutterably alone essentially, especially in the things most intimate and most important.
The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise.
Were it possible for us to see further than our knowledge reaches, and yet a little way beyond the outworks of our divinings, perhaps we would endure our sadnesses with greater confidence than our joys. For they are the moments when something new has entered into us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy perplexity, everything in us withdraws, a stillness comes, and the new, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it and is silent.
Death is the side of life which is turned away from us.
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