The creatures I seek do not want to be seen.

Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what's going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise.

For all the insularity of the old guard, Pittsburgh was always an open and democratic town.

The mind wants the world to return its love, or its awareness; the mind wants to know all the world, and all eternity, and God.

We are here to witness the creation and to abet it. We are here to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed. Together we notice not only each mountain shadow and each stone on the beach but, especially, we notice the beautiful faces and complex natures of each other. We are here to bring to consciousness the beauty and power that are around us and to praise the people who are here with us. We witness our generation and our times. We watch the weather. Otherwise, creation would be playing to an empty house.

I think the dying pray at the last not "please," but "thank you," as a guest thanks his host at the door.

The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.