“Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.”

All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.

But from each crime are born bullets that will one day seek out in you where the heart lies.

I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Love has to be flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.

You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way.

In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater.

He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.

Love is a clash of lightnings

The books that help you most are those which make you think that most.

Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.

Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.

There is not a woman born who desires to eat the bread of dependence, no matter whether it be from the hand of father, husband, or brother; for anyone who does so eat her bread places herself in the power of the person from whom she takes it.

The Eucharist prepares us for a place in eternity, because it is the Bread of Heaven.

My piece of bread only belongs to me when I know that everyone else has a share, and that no one starves while I eat.

People who treat other people as less than human must not be surprised when the bread they have cast on the waters comes floating back to them, poisoned.

If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, then they can sure make something out of you.

To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread.

There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.

One must labor for beauty as for bread.