“yet for all your arroganceand your glance,I tell you this:such loss is no loss,such terror, such coils and strands and pitfallsof blacknesssuch terroris no loss;hell is no worse than your earthabove the earth,hell is no worse,no, nor your flowersnor your veins of lightnor your presence,a loss;my hell is no worse than yoursthough you pass among the flowers and speakwith the spirits above the earth. ”

“At least I have the flowers of myself,and my thoughts, no godcan take that;I have the fervour of myself for a presenceand my own spirit for light;and my spirit with its lossknows this;though small against the black,small against the formless rocks,hell must break before I am lost;before I am lost,hell must open like a red rosefor the dead to pass.”

“There's a black rose growing in your garden.”

“...if you do not even understand what words say,how can you expect to pass judgementon what words conceal?”

“remember the golden apple-trees;O, do not pity them, as you watch them dropone by one,for they fall exhausted, numb, blindbut in certain ecstasy,for theirs is the hunger for Paradise.”

“Let us search the old highways.”

“grape, knife, cup, wheat / are symbols in eternity, / and every concrete object / has abstract value, is timeless / in the dream parallel”