chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd.

I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry; poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity; and at the bottom of it all: only love; poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love

Joy and sorrow in this world pass into each other, mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of life as mysterious as an overshadowed ocean, while the dazzling brightness of supreme hopes lies far off, fascinating and still, on the distant edge of the horizon

It has always been a mystery to me ... how beauty and anguish can share the same moment

Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting thorough my open mind possessing and caressing m

Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds.

The beauty of the world...has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.

Our sadness won’t be of the searing kind but more like a blend of joy and melancholy: joy at the perfection we see before us, melancholy at an awareness of how seldom we are sufficiently blessed to encounter anything of its kind. The flawless object throws into perspective the mediocrity that surrounds it. We are reminded of the way we would wish things always to be and of how incomplete our lives remain.