Never forget that solitude is my lot ... I implore those who love me to love my solitude." (Letter to Mimi Romanelli, May 11, 1910)

It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything. I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning.

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.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

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.

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.

Strangely, I heard a stranger say, I am with you.

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.

As if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.

It is part of the nature of every definitive love that sooner or later it can reach the beloved only in infinity.

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.

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.

Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.

All the soarings of my mind begin in my blood.

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.

Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable, there we also stand already quite near its transformation.

The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.

Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, seperate, in the evening.

Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.

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

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?

Shattered people are best represented by bits and pieces.

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

Our heart always transcends us.