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.

"To fashion stars out of dog dung, that is the Great Work. To take a negative experience and, by comparing it to something worse, make it feel good, is the great skill."

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

Very few of us are capable of being Free Thinkers, needing neither to adore nor to insult God, the insult often being an act of faith more profound than adoration.

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.

Neglecting small things under the pretext of wanting to accomplish large ones is the excuse of a coward.

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