“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?”

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

“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”

“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.”

“I.Don't trace out your profile--forget your side view--all that is outer stuff.II.Look for your other halfwho walks always next to youand tends to be who you aren't.”