“The grief, too, passes.”

“We only pass everything by like a transposition of air.”

“Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.”

“We make our way through Everything like thread passing through fabric, giving shape to images that we ourselves do not know.”

“You have had many and great sadnesses, which passed. And you say that even this passing was hard for you and put you out of sorts. But, please, consider whether these great sadnesses have not rather gone right through the center of yourself? Whether much in you has not altered, whether you have not somewhere, at some point of your being, undergone a change when you were sad?”

“You, you only, exist.We pass away, till at last,our passing is so immensethat you arise: beautiful moment,in all your suddenness,arising in love, or enchantedin the contraction of work.To you I belong, however time maywear me away. From you to youI go commanded. In betweenthe garland is hanging in chance; but if youtake it up and up and up: look:all becomes festival!”

“Art too is just a way of living.”