lucid and quiet his voice hovered above the listeners, like a light, like a starry sky.

The river is everywhere.

If my life were not a dangerous, painful experiment, if I did not constantly skirt the abyss and feel the void under my feet, my life would have no meaning and I would not have been able to write anything.

When we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.

The tree does not die, it waits.

What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.

No permanence is ours, we are a wave that flows to fit whatever form it finds.