Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.
Hope says: one dayyou will see her, if you will only wait.Despair says:all you have left of her is your bitterness.Beat, heart…The earthhas not swallowed everything.
I thought my fireplace dead and stirred the ashes. I burned my fingers.
I dreamt — marvellous error! — that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.
I.Don’t trace out your profile–forget your side view–all that is outer stuff.II.Look for your other halfwho walks always next to youand tends to be who you aren’t.
Don’t try to rush things: for the cup to run over, it must first be filled.
When the I AM THAT I AM made nothingAnd rested, which rest it certainly deserved,Night now accompanied day, and manHad his friend in the absence of the woman.
Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.
Man would be “otherwise.” That’s the essence of the specifically human.
All uncertainly is fruitful… so long as it is accompanied by the wish to understand.
Man would be otherwise. That is the essence of the specifically human.