Wisdom is having things right in your life and knowing why.
Evening came, a paw, to the gray hut by the river.
Readers should not be loaded with more information and guidance than a lively mind needs – puzzlement can be accepted, but insulting clarity is fatal to a poem.
Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn’t music.
I have woven a parachute out of everything broken.
You don’t need many words if you already know what you’re talking about.
Please think about this as you go on. Breathe on the world. Hold out your hands to it. When morning and evenings roll along, watch how they open and close, how they invite you to the long party that your life is.
I embrace emerging experience, I participate in discovery. I am a butterfly. I am not a butterfly collector. I want the experience of the butterfly.
You and I can turn and look at the silent river and wait. We know the current is there, hidden; and there are comings and goings from miles away that hold the stillness exactly before us. What the river says, that is what I say.
There is no such thing as writer’s block for writers whose standards are low enough.
The things you do not have to say make you rich. Saying the things you do not have to say weakens your talk. Hearing the things you do not have to hear dulls your hearing. And the things you know before you hear them; these are you and the reason you are in the world.
Security of character would be like a compass, you know? Other people may say that this way is north, or this way might be north. But the compass just says – north. That’s what we count on.