The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy.
The progress of our soul is ...
Quotes from the same author
We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.
You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.
Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence.
Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother- dust.
And because I love this life
I know I shall love death as well
The child cries out when
From the right breast the mother
Takes it away, in the very next moment
To find in the left one
Its consolation.
