Whenever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God's speaking from the whirlwind, nature's old song, and dance.

I cannot imagine a sorrier pursuit than struggling for years to write a book that attempts to appeal to people who do not read in the first place.

Why do you never find anything written about that idiosyncratic thought you advert to, about your fascination with something no one else understands? Because it is up to you. There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you have never read it on any page; there you begin. You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.

If I actually believed that the progress of human understanding depended on our crop of contemporary novelists, I would shoot myself.

We live in all we seek.

Young children have no sense of wonder. They bewilder well, but few things surprise them. All of it is new to young children, after all, and equally gratuitous.

Experiencing the present purely is being empty and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.