Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings. – Gustave Flaubert (1821–1880), letter to Louise Colet, 1846 October 7th, tr
[O]ne of my favorite Sufi poems… says that God long ago drew a circle in the sand exactly around the spot where you are standing right now. I was never not coming here. This was never not going to happen. – Elizabeth Gilbert