The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking.

When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.

When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools, dig a way out through the bottom of the ocean.

When the light returns to its source, it takes nothing of what it has illuminated.