The woman bent down to pick up the fallen pomegranate from the grass. It was ripe, it had burst open in the fall, stained her white dress. The vision of the laden barge, the pale island, the flowery meadow returned to her loving spirit along with the Creator’s words: ‘This is my body… Take and eat.

In faith I hear a whisper in the air as it sweeps:
secrets sparkling from the waters unto the shore;
but the wind does not stir upon the deeps,
the poets’ mandolas play no more.

It was the beginning of June; summer was arising out of spring, like an aloe from a field of grass.

It was like a Stygian plain, like a vision of Hades: a land of shadows, vapours and water. Everything was going misty and disappearing like spirits. The moon was enchanting and pulling at the plain just as she enchants and pulls at the sea, drinking all that vast earthly dampness from the horizon with her silent, insatiable throat.

The heat of his night time fever was being brushed away entirely by the breeze as the light mists evaporated. The same process that was happening around him, was happening within him too. He was being reborn with the morning.

You will never known the extent to which my soul is yours.

He wanted to possess not the body but the soul of that woman; and to possess her entire soul, with all her tenderness, all her joys, all her fears, all her anguish, all her dreams, in other words, the entire lief of her soul; and to be able to say: I am the life of her life.

Full with frets I die, but not slain by you.
My chest drains itself, painlessly.
Is all this not blood? Oh, Lord—it’s dew!
The dawn, weeping, washes over me.

Limit to courage? There is no limit to courage.

I cannot understand why the poets of our day wax indignant at the vulgarity of their age and complain of having come into the world too early or too late. I believe that every man of intellect can create his own beautiful fable of life.

It is not necessary to live,
But to carve our names beyond that point,
This is necessary.

Until now I have never really lived! Life on earth is a creeping, crawling business. It is in the air that one feels the glory of being a man and of conquering the elements. There is an exquisite smoothness of motion and the joy of gliding through space. It is wonderful!