“Have you not sometimes noted,When we unlock some long-disuséd roomWith heavy dust and soiling mildew filled,Where never foot of man has come for years,And from the windows take the rusty bar,And fling the broken shutters to the air,And let the bright sun in, how the good sunTurns every grimy particle of dustInto a little thing of dancing gold?Guido, my heart is that long-empty room,But you have let love in, and with its goldGilded all life.”

“Yeah, well things change. Now I want to be here." Another long, seconds-ticking pause. Dust danced in one fading gleam of gold coming through a low window, following long lazy swirls down to the ground. "With you.”

“We should be empty of clutching, empty of self, empty of all the old ideas of substance. We should be ‘lost in the objectivity of world-love’, as I have elsewhere put it; or, perhaps better, we should let ourselves be only an empty space filled with brightness. Life lived like that is ‘eternal’ life.”

“A crippled childSaid, "How shall I dance?"Let your heart danceWe said.Then the invalid said:"How shall I sing?"Let your heart singWe saidThen spoke the poor dead thistle,"But I, how shall I dance?"Let your heart fly to the windWe said.Then God spoke from above"How shall I descend from the blue?"Come dance for us here in the lightWe said.All the valley is dancingTogether under the sun,And the heart of him who joins us notIs turned to dust, to dust.”

“Have you noticed, to get fresh air into a house after a hard winter, you must sometimes use a little force to open the window that has for too long been sealed shut?”

“Love never fails. But then again, sometimes love has to put boxing gloves on and be tough in order to survive. Sometimes, you have to do the harder thing—the thing where you let someone grow on their own.”