I know only enough of God to want to worship him, by any means ready to hand.

These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.

Write about winter in the summer.

If we were to judge nature by common sense or likelihood, we wouldn't believe the world existed.

The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out.

Almost all of my many passionate interests, and my many changes of mind, came through books. Books prompted the many vows I made to myself.

The irrational haunts the metaphysical.