Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.

Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...

Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.

Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.

I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

One step at a time is all it takes to get you there.

My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them. They tell me those who were poor early have different views of gold. I don't know how that is. God is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him.