What Makes The Desert Beautiful Is That

He Who Is Different From Me Does Not Impoverish Me - He Enriches Me. Our Unity Is Constituted In Something Higher Than Ourselves - In Man... For No Man Seeks To Hear His Own Echo, Or To Find His Reflection In The Glass.

All Grown-ups Were Once Children... But Only Few Of Them Remember It.

On A Day Of Burial There Is No Perspective--for Space Itself Is Annihilated. Your Dead Friend Is Still A Fragmentary Being. The Day You Bury Him Is A Day Of Chores And Crowds, Of Hands False Or True To Be Shaken, Of The Immediate Cares Of Mourning. The Dead Friend Will Not Really Die Until Tomorrow, When Silence Is Round You Again. Then He Will Show Himself Complete, As He Was--to Tear Himself Away, As He Was, From The Substantial You. Only Then Will You Cry Out Because Of Him Who Is Leaving And Whom You Cannot Detain.

Peace Dies When The Framework Is Ripped Apart. When There Is No Longer A Place That Is Yours In The World. When You Know No Longer Where Your Friend Is To Be Found.

You Become Responsible For A Long Time For What You've Tamed.