Knowledge of the self is the mother of all knowledge. So it is incumbent on me to know my self, to know it completely, to know its minutiae, its characteristics, its subtleties, and its very atoms.
The poet begins where the man ends. The man’s lot is to live his human life, the poet’s to invent what is nonexistent.
One layer was certainly 17th century. The 18th century in him is obvious. There was the 19th century, and a large slice, of course, of the 20th century; and another, curious layer which may possibly have been the 21st.
If the other person injures you, you may forget the injury; but if you injure him you will always remember.
A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?
Death most resembles a prophet who is without honor in his own land or a poet who is a stranger among his people.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.