It is time I came back to my real lifeAfter this voyage to an island with no name, Where I lay down at sunrise drunk with light.

Where joy in an old pencil is not absurd.

So let the world go, but hold fast to joy.

I am not ready to die, But I am learning to trust deathAs I have trusted life.I am movingToward a new freedom

But tears are an indulgence. Memory sings.

What does myself now say to me?"Open the door of Mystery.

A bolt that raised her heart to blazing heightAnd made the vertical the very thrust of hope, And found its path at last(Slow work of Grace).

...when the petals fallSay it is beautiful and good, say it is well

I can tell you that solitudeIs not all exaltation, inner spaceWhere the soul breaths and work can be done.Solitude exposes the nerve, Raises up ghosts.The past, never at rest, flows through it.

Don't lick your wounds unless you care to taste the sting a second time.

By nature, men love newfangledness.

The end...is just the beginning

I am going to tell you a secret. Everything is about wanting. Everything. Things happen because of people wanting. Watch closely, and you’ll see what I mean.

I hate fights. I try to talk people out of fighting if I can and if they start I run away.

All misfortune is but a stepping stone to fortune.

There are two things which cannot be attacked in front: ignorance and narrow-mindedness. They can only be shaken by the simple development of the contrary qualities. They will not bear discussion.

I read Russian literature a lot.

Anyway, my father became super-responsible. You know, he was the kind of person that absorbs all responsibility in the family, and then everybody else can act like a child in relation to him.

Asia: Four little letters, three billion little people.