Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin. Diaries 1933-1940 (№ 321210)

All the love like water, everyone takes from it much as you can scoop up her bucket. Come to the water with a bucket, to love with the soul. There are buckets bigger and smaller, and soul! That's because everything is different and understand the love that each holds a number and its says. I, my friends, I want to tell you about all the love, as if I had come to the ocean shore. So that's why all are so stupid when they talk about love: it is because of love they say only to the extent of their experience. We are talking about the ocean, and they each say only that he could scoop up his personal vessel. Go, my friends, to shore up his personal federicco to the ocean, clasp my hands to his chest, as he put in his childhood in prayer, and to the ocean, burning in evening rays, childish whisper of his own.