Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.

Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, seperate, in the evening.

The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.

Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable, there we also stand already quite near its transformation.

She followed slowly, taking a long time, As though there were some obstacles in the way; And yet: as though, once it was overcome, She would be beyond all walking, and would fly.

All the soarings of my mind begin in my blood.

Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.

Let your beauty manifest itself without talking and calculation.​You are silent. It says for you: I am. And comes in meaning thousandfold​, comes at long last over everyone.

He does not always remain bent over the pages; he often leans back and closes his eyes over a line he has been reading again, and its meaning spreads through his blood.

It is part of the nature of every definitive love that sooner or later it can reach the beloved only in infinity.

As if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.

Right in the difficult we must have our joys, our happiness, our dreams: there against the depth of this background, they stand out, there for the first time we see how beautiful they are.

Strangely, I heard a stranger say, I am with you.

Earth, my dearest, oh believe me, you no longer need your springtimes to win me over...Unspeakably, I have belonged to you, from the flush.

But because truly being here is so much; because everything here apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.

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

Never forget that solitude is my lot ... I implore those who love me to love my solitude." (Letter to Mimi Romanelli, May 11, 1910)

Girls, there are poets who learn from you to say, what you, in your aloneness, are; and they learn through you to live distantness, as the evenings through the great stars become accustomed to eternity.

Whoever you are, go out into the evening, leaving your room, of which you know every bit; your house is the last before the infinite, whoever you are.

You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world.

The highest form of love is to be the protector of another person’s solitude.

A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.

Destiny itself is like a wonderful wide tapestry in which every thread is guided by an unspeakable tender hand, placed beside another thread and held and carried by a hundred others.

That is the principal thing-not to remain with the dream, with the intention, with the being-in-the-mood, but always forcibly to convert it all into things.

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

Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them.

I have never been aware before how many faces there are. There are quantities of human beings, but there are many more faces, for each person has several.

There is only one journey. Going inside yourself.

Rose, oh pure contradiction, joy of being No-one's sleep under so many lids.

Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor future lessens . . . . Superabundant existence wells in my heart.

Perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.

Perhaps then, some day far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough

Life is heavier than the weight of all things.

You are nearing the land that is life; you will recognize it by its seriousness.

All things want to float.

Beauty is only the start of bearable terror.

You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.

Everyone once, once only. Just once and no more. And we also once. Never again. But this having been once, although only once, to have been of the earth, seems irrevocable.

We are not allowed to linger, even with what is most intimate.

All emotions are pure which gather you and lift you up; that emotion is impure which seizes only one side of your being and so distorts you.

Art too is just a way of living.

So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp.

Do not allow yourself to be misled by the surfaces of things

Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.

I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open.

We make our way through Everything like thread passing through fabric, giving shape to images that we ourselves do not know.

And as for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always.