Who knows the flower best? - the one who reads about it in a book, or the one who finds it wild on the mountainside?

Landscapes have a language of their own, expressing the soul of the things, lofty or humble, which constitute them, from the mighty peaks to the smallest of the tiny flowers hidden in the meadow's grass.

Who knows the flower best? - the one who reads about it in a book, or the one who finds it wild on the mountainside?

The unsuspected is the daily fare of the traveler in Thibet.

Work cannot convey the almost voluptuous sweetness of the feelings experienced ... in solitude.

Nature has a language of its own, or maybe those who have lived long in solitude read in it their own unconscious inner feelings and mysterious foreknowledge.

The wise expect nothing, hope for nothing, thus avoiding all disappointment and anxiety.