There is a sacred horror about everything grand. It is easy to admire mediocrity and hills; but whatever is too lofty, a genius as well as a mountain, an assembly as well as a masterpiece, seen too near, is appalling.
At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language - door and open the love - window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.
That deep silence has a melody of its own, a sweetness unknown amid the harsh discords of the world’s sounds.
It’s the action, not the fruit of the action, that’s important. You have to do the right thing. It may not be in your power, may not be in your time, that there’ll be any fruit.
When did I realise I was God? Well, I was praying and I suddenly realised I was talking to myself.
