Every day, every day I hear enough to fill a year of nights with wondering.
We call it "Nature"; only reluctantly admitting ourselves to be "Nature" too.
In city, in suburb, in forest, no way to stretch out the arms - so if you would grow, go straight up or deep down.
Mediocrity is perhaps due not so much to lack of imagination as to lack of faith in the imagination, lack of the capacity for this abandon.
In certain ways writing is a form of prayer.
It's when we face for a moment the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know the taint in our own selves, that awe cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart.