“Last night, as I was sleeping,I dreamt - marvellous error! -that I had a beehivehere inside my heart.And the golden beeswere making white combsand sweet honeyfrom my old failures.”

“Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt --O, marvelous error -- That there was a beehive here inside my heartAnd the golden bees were making white combsAnd sweet honey from all my failures.”

“Has my heart gone to sleep?Have the beehives of my dreamsstopped working, the waterwheelof the mind run dry,scoops turning empty,only shadow inside?No, my heart is not asleep.It is awake, wide awake.Not asleep, not dreaming—its eyes are opened widewatching distant signals, listeningon the rim of vast silence”

“I thought my fireplace dead and stirred the ashes. I burned my fingers.”

“My philosophy is fundamentally sad, but I’m not a sad man, and I don’t believe I sadden anyone else. In other words, the fact that I don’t put my philosophy into practice saves me from its evil spell, or, rather, my faith in the human race is stronger then my intellectual analysis of it; there lies the fountain of youth in which my heart is continually bathing.”

“The wind, one brilliant day, calledto my soul with an odor of jasmine."In return for the odor of my jasmine,I'd like all the odor of your roses.""I have no roses; all the flowersin my garden are dead.""Well then, I'll take the withered petalsand the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?”

“XXIXTraveler, there is no path.The path is made by walking.Traveller, the path is your tracksAnd nothing more.Traveller, there is no pathThe path is made by walking.By walking you make a pathAnd turning, you look backAt a way you will never tread againTraveller, there is no road Only wakes in the sea.”