But your solitude will be a support and a home for you, even in the midst of very unfamiliar circumstances, and from it you will find all your paths.

Every angel is terrifying.

I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.

How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things?

Everything terrible is something that needs our love.

I am the rest between two notes which are somehow always in discord.

If you will stay close to nature, to its simplicity, to the small things hardly noticeable, those things can unexpectedly become great and immeasurable.

A billion stars go spinning through the night, / glittering above your head, / But in you is the presence that will be / when all the stars are dead.

I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood.

There are no classes in life for beginners: right away you are always asked to deal with what is most difficult.

Most people come to know only one corner of their room, one spot near the window, one narrow strip on which they keep walking back and forth.

In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?

And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it.

If no one else, the dying must notice how unreal, how full of pretense, is all that we accomplish here, where nothing is allowed to be itself.

Our heart always transcends us.

This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love: the more they give, the more they possess.

Shattered people are best represented by bits and pieces.

Comfort me from wherever you are–alone, we are quickly worn out; if I place my head on the road, let it seem softened by you. Could it be that even from afar we offer each other a gentle breath?

But there is much beauty here, because there is much beauty everywhere.

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.