“Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.”

“The Child Angel Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child, unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence. They are cruel in their greed and their envy, their words are like hidden knives thirsting for blood. Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child, and let your gentle eyes fall upon them like the forgiving peace of the evening over the strife of the day. Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the meaning of all things, let them love you and love each other. Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child. At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower, and at sunset bend your head and in silence complete the worship of the day.”

“God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands. ”

“The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.”

“Hard TimesMusic is silenced, the dark descending slowlyHas stripped unending skies of all companions.Weariness grips your limbs and within the locked horizonsDumbly ring the bells of hugely gathering fears.Still, O bird, O sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.It's not melodious woodlands but the leaps and fallsOf an ocean's drowsy booming,Not a grove bedecked with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam.Where is the shore that stored your buds and leaves?Where the nest and the branch's hold?Still, O bird, my sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.Stretching in front of you the night's immensityHides the western hill where sleeps the distant sun;Still with bated breath the world is counting time and swimmingAcross the shoreless dark a crescent moonHas thinly just appeared upon the dim horizon.-But O my bird, O sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.From upper skies the stars with pointing fingersIntently watch your course and death's impatienceLashes at you from the deeps in swirling waves;And sad entreaties line the farthest shoreWith hands outstretched and crooning 'Come, O come!'Still, O bird, O sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.All that is past: your fears and loves and hopes;All that is lost: your words and lamentation;No longer yours a home nor a bed composed of flowers.For wings are all you have, and the sky's broadening countryard,And the dawn steeped in darkness, lacking all direction.Dear bird, my sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings!”

“A message came from my youth of vanished days, saying, 'I wait for you among the quivering of unborn May, where smiles ripen for tears and hours ache with songs unsung.' It says, 'Come to me across the worn-out track of age, through the gates of death. For dreams fade, hopes fail, the fathered fruits of the year decay, but I am the eternal truth, and you shall meet me again and again in your voyage of life from shore to shore.”

“Don't limit a child to your own learning, for she was born in another time.”