Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
There can be no forced inspiration.
God is a cloud from which rain fell.
