Nor does God whisper through the trees. His voice is not to be mistaken. When men hear it they fall to their knees and their souls are riven and they cry out to Him and there is no fear but only wildness of heart that springs from such longing.

The world to come must be composed of what is past. No other material is at hand.

If you dont respect me what must you think of yourself?

There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.

Scared money can’t win and a worried man can’t love.

He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.

Every day is a lie. But you are dying. That is not a lie.