Things are not as easily understood nor as expressible as people usually would like us to believe. Most happenings are beyond expression; they exist where a word has never intruded.

You are nearing the land that is life; you will recognize it by its seriousness.

I have nothing to declare except my genius.

Artists work best alone. Work alone.

On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.

If no one else$$$ the dying must notice how unreal$$$ how full of pretense$$$ is all that we accomplish here$$$ where nothing is allowed to be itself.

May what I do flow from me like a river$$$ no forcing and no holding back$$$ the way it is with children.

It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.

We need$$$ in love$$$ to practice only this: letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it.

Its not about the goal. Its about growing to become the person that can accomplish that goal.