Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt -- O, marvelous error -- That there was a beehive here inside my heart And the golden bees were making white combs And sweet honey from all my failures.
Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again. Wanderer, there is no road-- Only wakes upon the sea. Caminante, son tus huellas el camino, y nada mÃĄs; caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. Al andar se hace camino, y al volver la vista atrÃĄs se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar. Caminante, no hay camino, sino estelas en la mar.
The eye you see is not an eye because you see it; it is an eye because it sees you.
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I thought my fireplace dead and stirred the ashes. I burned my fingers.
Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.
