“The smile that flickers on a baby’s lips when he sleeps- does anyone know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning.”

“Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubtat being told that it is a fragmentawaiting perfection.”

“On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby’s cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.”

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”

“when you came you cried and everybody smiled with joy; when you go smile and let the world cry for you.”

“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.”

“Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it isbeyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of dayand night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time andspace, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust.Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in yourpalpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoeto kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.”