“I am carved like David,every line of my body perfectly chiseled.Hunger is the blade that has made me smooth.I am a statue, yet I am only air at my center.I go to hug myself and-poof!-my arms go right through mefinding nothing to hold on to.My hands meet behind my own backin a stone handshake.This is not what you were expecting.I'm so cold.I'm so sharp.I've been cut, now I'll cut you.Come closer.Yes, come closer to me.I am going to make you see what I see.”

“Hunger is a blade that carves meI open my arms and pull the air in-big hug!-then poof, right through me, nobody there.It's only me holding myself.My arms wrap two times around my own ribs,meet behind my back for a secrethandshake.I am not what was expected.I'm so sharp-it's cut me now I'll cut you.Come closercloserNo, come closerI'm gonna make you see what I see.”

“Right now I am like the unborn baby in the womb, knowing nothing except the comforting warmth of the amniotic fluid in which I swim, the comforting nourishment entering my body from a source I cannot see or understand. My whole being comes from an unseen, unknown nurturer. By that nurturer I am totally loved and protected, and that love is forever. It does not end when I am precipitated out of the safe waters of the womb into the unsafe world. It will. It end when I breathe my last, mortal breath. That love manifested itself joyously in the creation of the universe, became particular for us in Jesus, and will show itself most gloriously in the Second Coming. We need not fear.”

“My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not;I think thy answers make me what I am.”

“We lived on 82nd Street and the Metropolitan Museum was my short cut to Central Park. I wrote:"I go into the museumand look at all the pictures on the walls.Instead of feeling my own insignificanceI want to go straight home and paint."A great painting, or symphony, or play, doesn't diminish us, but enlarges us, and we, too, want to make our own cry of affirmation to the power of creation behind the universe. This surge of creativity has nothing to do with competition, or degree of talent. When I hear a superb pianist, I can't wait to get to my own piano, and I play about as well now as I did when I was ten. A great novel, rather than discouraging me, simply makes me want to write. This response on the part of any artist is the need to make incarnate the new awareness we have been granted through the genius of someone else.”

“Fire runs through my body with the pain of loving you.Pain runs through my body with the fires of my love for you.Pain like a boil about to burst with my love for you.Consumed by fire of my love for you.I remember what you said to me,I am thinking of your love for me.I am torn by your love for me.Pain and more pain.Where are you going with my love?I'm told you will go from here.I'm told you will leave me here.My body is numb with grief.Remember what I said My LoveGoodbye My Love, goodbye.”

“I was sent forth from the power,and I have come to those who reflect upon me,and I have been found among those who seek after me.Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,and you hearers, hear me.You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.And do not banish me from your sight.And do not make your voice hate me, nor your hearing.Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or any time. Be on your guard!Do not be ignorant of me.For I am the first and the last.I am the honored one and the scorned one.I am the whore and the holy one.I am the wife and the virgin.I am and the daughter.I am the members of my mother.I am the barren oneand many are her sons.I am she whose wedding is great,and I have not taken a husband.I am the midwife and she who does not bear.I am the solace of my labor pains.I am the bride and the bridegroom,and it is my husband who begot me.I am the mother of my fatherand the sister of my husbandand he is my offspring.I am the slave of him who prepared me.I am the ruler of my offspring.But he is the one who begot me before the time on a birthday.And he is my offspring in (due) time,and my power is from him.I am the staff of his power in his youth,and he is the rod of my old age.And whatever he wills happens to me.I am the silence that is incomprehensibleand the idea whose remembrance is frequent.I am the voice whose sound is manifoldand the word whose appearance is multiple.I am the utterance of my name. -The Thunder, Perfect Mind”