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1860·New York City, USA
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on — have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear — what remains? Nature remains.
Ralph Waldo Emerson·1841Let us be silent, that we may hear the whisper of the gods.
Matsuo Bashō·1690The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry·1942Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
