But we have only begun to love the earth. We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life. How could we tire of hope?-so much is in bud.

Wear scarlet! Tear the green lemons off the tree! I don't want to forget who I am, what has burned in me, and hang limp and clean, an empty dress -

If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I fall in season and now is a time of ripening.

It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something that is in process.

I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct.

We call it "Nature"; only reluctantly admitting ourselves to be "Nature" too.

I'll dig in into my days, having come here to live, not to visit. Grey is the price of neighboring with eagles, of knowing a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.