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.

All things are aggregations of atoms that dance & by their movement produce sound. When the rhythm of the dance changes, the sound it produces also changes... Each atom perpetually sings its song, and the sound at every moment creates dense subtle forms.

Guard against idols -- yes, guard against all idols, of which surely the greatest is oneself.

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

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.

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