We wasters of sorrows! How we stare away into sad endurance beyond them, trying to foresee their end! Whereas they are nothing else than our winter foliage, our sombre evergreen, one of the seasons of our interior year.

Only those sadnesses are dangerous and bad which one carries about among people in order to drown them out.

It is so often on the name of a misdeed that a life goes to pieces, not the nameless and personal action itself, which was perhaps a perfectly definite necessity of that life and would have been absorbed by it without effort.

It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything. I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning.

The deepest experience of the creator is feminine, for it is experience of receiving and bearing.

Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

Truly to sing, that is a different breath.

If my devils are to leave me, I fear my angels will take flight as well.

The deepest experience of the creator is feminine, for it is the experience of receiving and bearing.

The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.