May my silences become more accurate.
I learn by going where I have to go.
I have gone into the waste lonely places.
By daily dying, I have come to be.
Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It’s what everything else isn’t.
What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.
A mind too active is no mind at all.
I lose and find myself in the long water. I am gathered together once more.
The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are Nothing.
Wake the happy words.
I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.
A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.
The damage of teaching: the constant contact with the undeveloped.
Any fool can take a bad line out of a poem; it takes a real pro to throw out a good line.
But when I breath with the birds, The spirit of wrath becomes the spirit of blessings, And the dead begin from their dark to sing in my sleep.
I came to love, I came into my own.
Civilization is over-rated, but there isn’t much else.
In a dark time, the mind begins to see.
Fear was my father, Father Fear. His look drained the stones.