I Was Wrong To Grow Older. Pity.

On A Day Of Burial There Is No Perspective--for Space Itself Is Annihilated. Your Dead Friend Is Still A Fragmentary Being. The Day You Bury Him Is A Day Of Chores And Crowds, Of Hands False Or True To Be Shaken, Of The Immediate Cares Of Mourning. The Dead Friend Will Not Really Die Until Tomorrow, When Silence Is Round You Again. Then He Will Show Himself Complete, As He Was--to Tear Himself Away, As He Was, From The Substantial You. Only Then Will You Cry Out Because Of Him Who Is Leaving And Whom You Cannot Detain.

If You Tame Me, Then We Shall Need Each Other. To Me, You Will Be Unique In All The World. To You, I Shall Be Unique In All The World…if You Tame Me, It Will Be As If The Sun Came To Shine On My Life. I Shall Know The Sound Of A Step That Will Be Different From All The Others. Other Steps Send Me Hurrying Back Underneath The Ground. Yours Will Call Me, Like Music, Out Of My Burrow

A Single Event Can Awaken Within Us A Stranger Totally Unknown To Us.

But Certainly, For Us Who Understand Life, Figures Are A Matter Of Indifference.

If You Want To Build A Boat, Do Not Instruct The Men To Saw Wood, Stitch The Sails, Prepare The Tools And Organize The Work, But Make Them Long For Setting Sail And Travel To Distant Lands.