Work of sight is done.
Now do heart work
on the pictures within you.

You, neighbor God, when I disturb with heavy raps
your quiet during a lonely night,
it is because I rarely hear You breathe,
though know: You're in your room alone.
And while in need, there's no one there to bring
your groping hand a drink. But I
am listening. Just give me a sign.
I am close by.

A paradox: To those who really love, the more they give, the more they possess.

The necessary thing is great, inner solitude.
What goes on inwardly is worthy of your love.

No matter how deeply I go down
into myself,
My God is dark, and like a webbing
made of a hundred roots
that drink in silence.

Love is this: that two solitudes border, protect, and salute one another.

There is but one solitude, and that is great, and not easy to bear, and to almost everybody come hours when they would gladly exchange it for any sort of intercourse, however banal and cheap, for the semblance of some slight accord with the first comer ... But perhaps those are the very hours when solitude grows; for its growing is painful ... But that must not mislead you. The necessary thing is after all but this: solitude, great inner solitude. Going-into-oneself and for hours meeting no one -- this one must be able to attain. To be solitary, the way one was solitary as a child ... Think of the world you carry within you ... What goes on in your innermost being is worthy of your whole love ...