I have by no means an aversion to things Indian, but I am afraid of them, for they draw my imagination into the formless and the diffuse against whic… - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

You can’t, if you can’t feel it, if it never
Rises from the soul, and sways
The heart of every single hearer,
With deepest power, in simple ways.
You’ll sit forever, gluing things together,
Cooking up a stew from other’s scraps,
Blowing on a miserable fire,
Made from your heap of dying ash.
Let apes and children praise your art,
If their admiration’s to your taste,
But you’ll never speak from heart to heart,
Unless it rises up from your heart’s space.

Mysteries do not as yet amount to miracles.

Very often when we have found ourselves forever separated from what we had intended to achieve, we have already, on our way, found something else worth desiring.